


in the mess it's made of us

by plalligator



Series: happier with half of you [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (same as in canon), Arranged Marriage, Awkward Romance, Backstory, Banter, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Getting Together, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Old Married Couple, Parent Death, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Trust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plalligator/pseuds/plalligator
Summary: Roy and Riza break the rules, keep their vows, and fall in love.





	1. April 1903

**Author's Note:**

> well well welLL HERE WE ARE AT LAST
> 
> as usual, this came out of a bad idea on twitter, because the only thing better than slow burn is slow burn with secret platonic marriage of convenience. 
> 
> even though this is an au, it follows canon pretty closely and all major events occur pretty much the same as they do in canon, so i didn't really...include them in the fic? i wanted to avoid just recapping things that happened in canon.
> 
> also, this is completely written! it's currently in beta and i'll post the chapters as i get them cleaned up. my eternal thanks to jediseagull for betaing, and for being a hero and a scholar. YOU ROCK FAM. 
> 
> this is both a shoutout and a callout to everyone on twitter who encouraged this: caps, jennie, kuri, lyssie, tou, spicy chat. thanks for nothing, assholes. here's three months of my life, i hope you appreciate it.
> 
> title from 'half of you' by dessa, which is VERY royai song

**April 1903**

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Roy hadn’t meant to say it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. In all truth, it was probably a bit too late to be asking. All the arrangements had already been made and they were waiting in the antechamber to the mayor’s office; him in a borrowed tie and jacket that was a size too small in the shoulders and his master’s daughter next to him in a neat navy skirt suit. 

She shot him a wry look, suddenly looking older than her years. Around him, she had always been rather retiring, but now he wondered how much of that was due to her father’s influence. He could see how for a girl with a strong-minded father, deference might become a shield. 

“I think I should be asking you that,” she said. Her voice was low but clear. “You wanted an apprenticeship in alchemy, not a wife.” 

“Well, no, not exactly,” said Roy, instinctively shying away from the ‘w’ word. “But…” He trailed off, unsure how to politely say that Master Hawkeye had made it clear that in this case they were essentially one and the same. But he probably didn’t have to. She had been there too. 

Roy respected Master Hawkeye, of course, but there was no question that something about living in isolation for so long had made the man slightly cracked in the head. Roy would never dare to speak the thought aloud, but she sighed anyway, as if reading his mind.

“I understand. My father’s demands can be...unreasonable.”

“Forget that!” said Roy, more forcefully than he meant. “He shouldn’t auction his own daughter off like an unwanted piece of furniture!” 

He stopped, stricken, but she just gave a little twinge of a smile. 

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Mustang,” she said quietly. “But I think he just wants to be sure I’m taken care of if anything happens. Father’s health is...not good.” 

_That’s no excuse,_ Roy wanted to say, but held his tongue. He was aware it was hypocritical of him. When the matter came up, he should have said no right away, but he wanted the secret to flame alchemy so bad he could taste it, and if this was the only condition...

But he really would be no better than Master Hawkeye if he didn’t take _her_ feelings into account.

“Nevermind that,” he said. “You didn’t answer my question. What about what _you_ want?”

The mask slipped, and she looked young again, slender shoulders curving in slightly as she absently wrapped her arms around herself. 

“I hadn’t thought much about it, to be honest. Perhaps a schoolteacher...I’ve had a good education. I’ve heard they always need typists and secretaries in the city.” The way she said ‘the city,’ it might as well have been on the other side of the world. Roy had known Master Hawkeye to be disdainful of society in general, but he had never followed the thought to its conclusion. He wondered if she had ever even left the village. 

That gave him the first inkling of an idea. Maybe they could both gain something from this. 

“And...marriage?” he prompted. She certainly could be evasive when she wanted to. 

She appeared to be thinking, then shrugged. 

“I don’t have any preferences,” she said. “Marriage wouldn’t be terrible, I suppose.” 

Roy raised an eyebrow.

“Harsh, Miss Hawkeye,” he said, in his driest tone.

She startled, meeting his eyes for the first time as she flushed deep red. It was—strangely mesmerizing. 

“Ah—” she said, hands knotting together anxiously. “I’m terribly sorry. That was rude of me.” 

“Not at all,” he said, amused in spite of himself. “I guess I’m not exactly husband material. But listen,” he faced her earnestly, “if we do this, I’ll try my best to be a good one. I’ll be in the military academy for the next couple years, so you won’t see much of me, but I’ll send money when I can. After that, well…” he hesitated. 

_Roy,_ said a voice in his head that sounded very much like Aunt Chris, _If saving the world means sacrificing those weaker than you to your ambition, you’re no kind of man at all. This girl is in a rough spot. Are you going to help her, or are you going to stand by like a coward?_

“After that, I hope to be stationed to a command post in one of the regional capitals. You could join me if you like. As a married officer, I would have privileged housing, so it wouldn’t be a hassle. Then, whether you want to be a schoolteacher or a typist or a circus acrobat, you could have any opportunity you like.”

He paused, but she was silent and he couldn’t read her expression. She was very like her father that way. He cleared his throat and pressed on anyway. 

“Either way,” he continued, trying not to let his nervousness show, “I won’t make any demands on you, and you don’t have to worry about having any obligation to me. Keep your name if you like. I won’t force myself into your life. I don’t want this to be—a hardship. Is that acceptable to you?”

She studied him for a moment. 

“You mean it about me coming to join you once you’re done with military academy,” she said finally. It was a statement with the slightest lilt of a question at the end. 

“Of course,” he said, with a cold rush of relief that he _had_ said the right thing after all. “I wouldn’t promise anything if I weren’t willing to go through with it.” 

“Then I’m amenable, Mr. Mustang,” she said formally. 

He cracked a thin-lipped smile and held out a hand to her. 

“If we’re going to be married, you better call me Roy,” he said. 

“Riza,” she said, and laid her hand in his with a smile. It was the kind of smile that snuck up on you, not dazzling but so obviously warm and genuine Roy could feel his own tentative smile widen and become real. He marvelled at how successfully she had managed to hide herself away with her plain cropped hair and downcast eyes. 

“Riza, then,” he said. _I’m going to do right by you, Riza._

::

The ceremony was brief and formulaic. The mayor officiated, with his secretary and Master Hawkeye serving as witnesses. The mayor read a short speech and they exchanged the plain silver rings Roy had bought in town. Then all they had to do was sign the marriage certificate. 

“You may kiss the bride,” the mayor intoned when it was done. Riza had no veil to lift, and he found himself fumbling, unsure what to do with his hands. She looked about as nervous as he did, and as he took her hand they smiled awkwardly at each other, silently acknowledging the strangeness of the situation. She gave him a tiny nod to let him know it was okay, and he bent down to brush a kiss against her closed mouth. It was chaste and dry, just the fleeing touch of skin on skin. 

And just like that, they were married. 

There was no wedding party or reception, and thankfully for Roy’s sanity, Master Hawkeye hadn’t been so controlling as to insist on a wedding night. He and Riza adjoined to separate bedrooms down the hall from each other as they had done throughout Roy’s apprenticeship. Early the next morning Roy was on a train back to Central—he had an appointment with the military to keep. Riza was still asleep when he left, which was probably for the best. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would have said to her anyway. 

::

Roy didn’t wear the ring during the two years he was at military academy. It would invite more attention than he wanted, and the lack of a ring made it easy to join in conversations with his fellow officer candidates, most of whom were unmarried. He fell into a pattern of commiserating with them about women and generally making himself agreeable. His plan was to establish himself as an officer before taking the state alchemist exam, and the more people who had a good opinion of him, the better.

He heard from Riza infrequently. As he’d promised, he sent money periodically. In response to this, she would inevitably write a polite note of thanks, with a few lines on how her father was doing. The notes said next to nothing about herself. They were clearly written out of a sense of obligation, which Roy regretted but wasn’t sure how to remedy at first—until he remembered the longing in her voice when she’d talked about city life. 

_Well, why not,_ he thought to himself. _Now’s as good a time as any._ When the time came to send his next paycheck, he sent a note along with it. 

::


	2. September 1903

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to AWKWARD FIRST DATES

**September 1903**

He met her at the train station at 1106 hours on his next day off, exactly six minutes late. To his distress, she was already there, parked with her back to a pillar.

“Riza!” he said, jogging up. “I’m sorry I’m late. Were you waiting long? Did anyone bother you?”

“Not at all,” she said. “It all went quite smoothly.” Her hands, clutched around her purse, were anxious, but her eyes were active, peering around with interest at the great iron-and-glass structure of the station. 

“Good,” said Roy awkwardly. “Good.” He was all of a sudden realizing that they had barely talked, really. “Um. Are you hungry? Shall we get something to eat?”

“I’d like that,” she said.

“Great!” said Roy, overenthusiastically, and winced. “This way—er—” He had reached out to put a hand on her shoulder to guide her before drawing back. “That is, it’s this way.” He hustled them out of the station and out onto the street. 

“Do you mind walking?” he asked. “We could get a taxi, but they’re pretty pricey.” 

_Complaining about the price of the taxi? What are you_ doing _you fool?_

“I don’t mind at all,” she said, watching the motorcars going past. “I like to walk.” He finally gave in to and offered her his arm. She took it without comment, seemingly more interested in the city than in Roy.

He smiled to himself and relaxed a little. Well, of course she was. 

They went two blocks in silence. She kept pace with him easily in her sensible loafers, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she absorbed the sights around her. Finally, she seemed to have drunk her fill enough to turn to him.

“I didn’t recognize you at first,” she said. “In your uniform, with your hair like that.” 

“Ah…” he said, touching a hand to his hair, which was slicked back from his forehead. He had only begun styling it that way recently, in a somewhat futile attempt to look older. “What do you think?”

She eyed him, and he had the uncomfortable feeling of being sized up like a piece of meat. 

“It looks affected,” she said finally. “Like you’re trying too hard. Save it for formal occasions.”

He almost missed a step, startled. She must have taken his silence as offense, because she grimaced and looked away.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. 

“No, don’t be,” he said. “I think you’re probably right.” 

They had reached the cafe. He held the door for her as they entered.

“Really,” he said, because she still looked worried. “I’m glad you told me. Shall we sit?”

They found a table in the corner. Roy noted that she chose the seat that put her back to the wall, affording her a view of the room at large. He had seen the same behavior in seasoned military officers, but never in a girl younger than twenty. It might have been coincidence, except that she was scanning the room with the same assessing gaze she had just turned on him. They were promptly waited on by a dark-haired girl about Riza’s age. 

“I’ll have a coffee,” Roy said.

“Black tea, please,” said Riza quietly. 

“Ah, and two scones,” added Roy quickly. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go in particular?” he asked when the waitress had left. He thought of what his sisters would do on their days off. “Shopping? Do you need a new dress?” 

Curiously, her gaze slid away, and she murmured something under her breath.

“Sorry, what?” 

“I said, my father would notice if I brought anything back,” she said to the table.

“Would notice—” said Roy, and then: “Master Hawkeye _does_ know you’re here, right?”

She was silent for a moment.

“He thinks I’m at my piano lesson,” she said finally. “I have to take the train to get there, so—” 

Roy couldn’t help it: he burst out laughing, inexplicably but undeniably charmed. 

“What?” she demanded. 

“I don’t know whether your tendency to speaking exactly what’s on your mind is a gift or a curse,” he said, chuckling. “It’s very impressive.”

“I don’t like to lie,” she said defensively. “But Father can be…” 

“I understand completely,” he said, holding up his hands. “I don’t blame you at all.” 

Before either of them could say more, their food arrived. He waited for her to fix her tea first, northing that she took it with no sugar, only a little milk. That left the sugar bowl free. He took two cubes and stirred them into his coffee. When he looked up, she was watching him. He gave his best disarming smile. 

“What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.” He took one of the scones he had ordered, resting it on his saucer, and passed the plate with the other to her. “Here, have a scone. They’re very good.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I heard all the senior officers come here when they want to get away from canteen food.”

“Ah—thank you,” she said, breaking off the tiniest piece of scone and nibbling at it. Roy felt vaguely like he was trying to befriend a skittish animal. 

She took a sip of tea, and set her cup down, fiddling with her spoon. 

“Mr. Mustang,” she began hesitantly. 

“Roy,” he interrupted. 

“Roy,” she continued more firmly, her gaze darting back up and pinning him in place. “Why did you invite me here today?”

“Well, I guess I would say to get to know you better,” he said. Her fixed amber gaze was not a little disconcerting. “If all goes to plan, we’ll be seeing rather a lot of each other. Isn’t it preferable that we get along? You don’t have to like me, of course, but like I said, I don’t want this to be a hardship for you.” 

“I see,” she said, while Roy took a determinedly casual sip of coffee. After a moment: “I like you just fine, by the way.”

“Oh?” said Roy, ignoring his traitorous heart doing a flip in his chest. Ridiculous. All that meant was that she didn’t hate him. It was hardly a high compliment. “That’s good to hear.” 

She smiled and looked up at him with a hint of slyness in her eyes.

“You should still change the hair, though,” she said.

::

They ended up staying at the cafe for close to two hours, in which he managed to press a second cup of tea and another half a scone on her. It had taken some coaxing to get her to talk for any length of time, but when she did speak it was always well-thought-out and incisive. There was clearly a lot going on behind her carefully neutral expression. It struck him that with her brains, she could have easily have picked up alchemy, and he wondered why she hadn’t. Whether it was by choice or stricture. He didn’t ask, preferring not to upset their delicate balance. By the time he escorted her back to the train station, he had still learned more than he could have hoped.

“You’re in a good mood,” observed Hughes, one of his fellow cadets, at dinner that night. 

“Am I?” asked Roy. He smiled to himself. “Guess so.” 

“What, you have a date or something?”

“Or something,” said Roy agreeably. The afternoon had got him thinking. Riza liked him just fine, in her words. That was enough to go on. It didn’t have to be like in the storybooks. He could imagine them sharing an apartment somewhere, him busy with the military and her busy with—whatever she chose to do. Maybe not exactly romance, but...companionship. That would be nice. And someday, well, you never knew how things would turn out. 

Maybe this whole marriage thing would work out after all.

::


	3. November 1905

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to...angst

**November 1905**

Riza, with her oblique references, had been right about Master Hawkeye’s health. 

Clearly, thought Roy, the old bastard had known what he was doing when he demanded Roy marry his daughter. 

He sighed and tucked his hat more firmly under his arm, then glanced sidelong at Riza, standing next to him in front of the grave. She was wearing the same navy skirt suit she had worn to the mayor’s office that day—probably her best outfit. At a glance, she looked drawn and quiet, washed-out, like grief had forced her to recede back into herself.

Her father had left everything to her, but it turned out that “everything” wasn’t much once the debts were paid. It might have been different if the house was in good condition, but if Roy were honest the place had been half a ruin for years. It raised the question of what to do next. He was in bachelor’s quarters at the moment, and his next transfer would be to the east, near the growing conflict in Ishbal if the rumor mill had it correct. But she couldn’t exactly come with him there...

“Roy?” she asked, jolting him out of his thoughts. She was absently rubbing at the back of her neck with one hand. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about the reason my father insisted on...us. I think...I think he really _was_ worried about my future…” She bit her lip, and there was uncertainty in her tone, as if she hoped it was true but wasn’t sure. “But I think it was also because I know the key to decoding his research...and only people who were close to me would be able to find that key.” 

Roy’s mind reeled. In their conversations over the past two years—infrequent, yes, but composed of more than just pleasantries—she had never given any indication that she knew anything about her father’s alchemical work. The very mention of alchemy had seemed to make her uneasy, so he had stayed away from the topic. 

More than that, it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d even thought about flame alchemy since before the funeral. 

While he was still processing this, she turned to him. 

“Can I entrust you with my back?” 

::

Roy sat at the kitchen table, leg jiggling slightly. His eyes were fixed on the distance, abstracted like her father’s sometimes used to get when he was deep in his studies. 

“I have a request to make of you,” he said finally. He had slicked back his hair for the funeral and hadn’t bothered to change it after they returned to the house. She hadn’t been lying when she said it looked affected, but mostly the reason she disliked it was how it sharpened his face and made him look distant. Unapproachable. 

“You want to try for the state alchemist qualifying exam,” she said. A statement, not a question. 

He looked back at her, not denying it. 

“Is that alright with you? With this power, I should be able to pass with ease,” he said. 

“You don’t need my permission,” she said as gently as possible. “You said that I need not have any obligation to you. Please don’t feel like _I _have any control over _you._ ” __

__“You do, though,” he said quietly. “You’re the one I have to thank for inheriting your father’s work. I don’t want to disrespect that by going against your will. Besides, the conflict in Ishbal is heating up. Were I to pass the exam, I’d likely be sent there for my next transfer, and it wouldn’t be safe for you to join me. I want to make sure you’ll be alright.”_ _

__She almost smiled at that. Really, she had been taking care of herself for a long time now. Her father’s death was just an end she knew would come eventually._ _

__Maybe that was why, instead of grief, she just felt strangely hollow and empty inside._ _

__“I’ve never asked you,” she said instead. “Why the military? It doesn’t seem like you’re the type of person who cares about chasing glory. And if it was just about alchemy, you could have taken the state alchemist’s exam without becoming an officer.”_ _

__“You’re right,” he said. “Master wouldn’t like to hear me say it, but I don’t think alchemy does any good just hidden away in books and manuscripts. It’s an incredible power, after all...think of all the people that could be helped if we alchemists chose to use that power on their behalf!” He no longer looked abstracted. She watched as his posture straightened and his fists clenched in excitement. His eyes were sharp and focused._ _

__He no longer looked like her father._ _

__“In this country, the military is the only institution that provides alchemists with support _and_ is devoted to protecting people. I’m in a position now where I can protect many more people. So I plan to climb as high as I can, in order to secure the future of this country.”_ _

__He stopped, slightly breathless, and looked away. His face was a little red, and something unclenched in her chest at seeing that familiar expression._ _

__“Sorry,” he said. “That must sound awfully naive.”_ _

__“No,” she said, suddenly sure. “No, I think it’s a beautiful idea, and I think you should follow through with it. It makes me feel like I did the right thing, entrusting my back to you.”_ _

__“Thank you,” he said seriously. “I promise to be worthy of your trust.” He glanced down at her hand resting on the table, on the ring gleaming on her finger. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “I know this isn’t what we had planned.”_ _

__She shrugged. It was funny, all she had thought about for so long was getting out of her father’s house. Now that it was a reality it didn’t seem to matter so much._ _

__“It’s in the past,” she said. “I was thinking I might move to East City anyway. There’s a teacher’s college there.” It wasn’t strictly a lie, but she had other plans. The shape of an idea was beginning to form in her mind, if only she had the guts to go through with it._ _

__“You’ll call if there’s anything you need?” he asked. “I mean it, anything.”_ _

__“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. They stood, and he put his hat on. “Don’t die, alright?”_ _

__He grinned at her. She had always thought he had a nice grin. It made him look boyish, in spite of his best efforts to seem grown-up._ _

__“I’ll try my best.”_ _

::


	4. March-May 1908

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORE ANGST

**March 1908**

In the first year or so of his posting in Ishbal, he was rarely in the thick of the action. Mostly he cleared debris, or worked with minesweeping units to safely detonate Ishbalan explosives so they wouldn’t take out companies of Amestrian soldiers. It wasn’t glamorous work, but he was being useful and he wasn’t being shot at. Every few weeks he managed a few scribbled lines to Riza to let her know he was still alive.

That stopped quickly when he was sent to the front. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to expose her to the grim realities of battle, but really it was because the thought of her knowing what had become of him—what had become of her father’s research—made him sick.

Instead, he wore the ring all three years; a masochistic impulse on his part, but a fairly harmless one. He justified it to himself with the excuse that it was easy enough to hide under his gloves. 

Not easy enough, as it turned out. A month into his new placement, he and Hughes were drinking together in front of the fire and Roy got careless, stripping the gloves off to better warm his hands against the chilly desert night. He realized his mistake immediately: Hughes’ eyes fell on the glinting metal on his left hand. 

“Whoaaaa, you got a wife at home, Roy? You never said! You gotta tell me about her! I mean, there’s no way she’s as beautiful as my Gracia, but—”

“It’s not like that,” said Roy, elbowing him away and taking another swig of shitty beer. God, he’d only been on the front lines a few weeks and he’d already forgotten what real booze tasted like. 

“Aw, c’mon,” said Hughes, whining. “You’re no fun, Roy.”

“I’m saying it’s not like that,” said Roy again, punctuating the words with a flick on the forehead. “She’s my master’s daughter. It’s convenient for both of us.” 

“Riiight,” drawled Hughes. “But you must like her, or you wouldn’t have married her.”

As usual, Roy felt a twinge of guilt at that. _No,_ he thought sourly to himself. _I married her to get to her father’s alchemical secrets, and because I was too much of a coward to say no._

“Of course,” he said. “I like her just fine. She’s—” _Simple,_ he wanted to say, but that sounded bad. “Smart,” he said instead. “Steady. But it’s not as if we’ve spent a lot of time together.” 

Hughes’ eyebrows went up, and he whistled. 

“You mean you haven’t…?”

“No!” snapped Roy, cheeks heating. “ _No!_. I told you, it’s just convenience! And anyway, I wouldn’t—it’s not—why _would_ we?”

“Alright, alright,” said Hughes easily. “Well, if it works for you, I’m not one to judge. If you had a woman like Gracia waiting for you at home, you’d understand…” 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Roy. “Enough already, can we please just get drunk enough to forget that we’re in this hellhole?” 

::

**May 1908**

Military academy was hard. 

That wasn’t a surprise, of course. Riza had been expecting it. But in a way, it was also a relief to have a concrete purpose for once. She surprised herself by being good at it, some long-dormant part of her rising to the challenge with ease.

And then, of course, they put her on the battlefield, because the thing she was good at was killing people. 

It had crossed her mind that she might see Roy. She’d heard about Order 3066 just like everyone else, and she’d glimpsed both Major General Grand and Major Armstrong from a distance. 

But while she’d acknowledged the possibility in the back of her mind, there was no way to steel herself for the reality of seeing his face through her scope. It felt like the bottom of her stomach had dropped out, and her feet were leaden as she trudged down from her perch to the camp. She had some fleeting thought of avoiding him, but that would only make things worse in the end. 

It hadn’t really felt real until that point. Until she’d actually seen his face, she could still pretend that the Flame Alchemist some of the men whispered about and messy-haired, boyishly-grinning Roy, her _husband_ Roy, weren’t the same man. 

She didn’t have to wait long by the fire until he came by, accompanied by a man wearing glasses and captain’s bars. As they passed, she stood.

“Major Mustang.” That was all she had to say to get his attention. His eyes widened in shock, a mirror of her own expression when she had seen him from the tower.

“Ri—” he said, and then visibly stopped himself, muscles clenching in his jaw. She could see him taking in her filthy uniform, the rifle slung over her shoulder. “Hawkeye. Cadet Hawkeye. It’s been a while. If you’re not on duty right now, we should catch up. Hughes, if you’ll excuse us.” 

Without waiting for a response, he began walking away. After a moment to steel herself, Riza followed. By the time she caught up with him at a dusty tent a little ways away, he was already sitting on a camp bed inside. It was virtually the only thing in the tent besides a stool, a lantern, and a foot locker. He was resting his head on his clasped hands, and didn’t look up when she came in. 

“Sir,” she began. “Are you alright?” 

She wondered dully if he was about to start yelling, or whether he was the type that just went cold and stern when angry. 

“I’m adjusting,” he said to the floor. “It’s taking a moment.” He lifted his head and she saw that he wasn’t angry at all; instead, his expression was as bleak as she’d ever seen it. “I never expected to see you here. It wasn’t…” he hesitated. “It wasn’t the money, was it?” 

She almost laughed.

“No,” she said. “No…I believed in what you said that day. I thought maybe I could be a part of protecting people too.” She didn’t have to say anything more. The reality of how that had turned out was all around them. 

“I see,” he said. “I see.”

His eyes flickered around the tent and then landed on her bare left hand for just a moment. His expression twisted with something like hurt, and he opened his mouth, then grimly shut it again.

“I don’t wear it out in the field,” she explained. “It hinders my handling of a gun. I wear it around my neck instead.” 

“Sorry,” he said. “You don’t have to wear it at all if you don’t want to, god knows I’ve done little enough to deserve your commitment. It’s just—” He sighed. “I didn’t want you to have to experience this,” he said. “We’ve already lost enough people to this battlefield.”

Meaning that he, personally, felt responsible for her being in Ishbal. 

“I chose this path,” she reminded him, a tad more sharply than she should really have been with a superior officer. “Maybe I was naive, and certainly I wish things hadn’t ended up like this, but it was my choice.” 

He looked so stricken that she wanted to reach out a hand and comfort him, but touch was such a foreign concept between them that she wasn’t even sure how she’d manage it. 

“I have no interest in a life on the sidelines being protected by others,” she said instead, more softly. “To give you my father’s research and let you take on the responsibility of carrying it out alone...to wash my hands of the consequences...I couldn’t stand that.” 

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Riza turned. It was the captain who had been with Roy—Major Mustang—earlier, the one with the goatee. She stood to attention and saluted. 

“Please, please, there’s no need,” he said, scratching his chin in an embarrassed sort of way. He had a friendly, open face and stood in a slouch. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other. I just wanted to say thanks for before. It’s nice to finally meet the person who’s been watching over us all this time. Captain Maes Hughes, at your service.”

“Cadet Riza Hawkeye,” she said. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Hawkeye, huh?” he said. She saw his gaze slide around to Major Mustang, and a gleam appeared in his eyes. He ducked in closer to her, conspiratorial. “Well, if you are who I think you are, I oughta congratulate you. You know, for making an honest man out of Roy.” 

A laugh burst out of Riza’s chest, unexpected and violent. Captain Hughes grinned and winked at her, obviously pleased. 

“Hughes?” growled Roy.

“Yes, Roy?”

“Get the hell out of my tent. Unless you want to taste these flames up close.” 

“Alright, alright,” said Captain Hughes, sloping out of the tent. “Touchy. Nice to meet you, Cadet Hawkeye. Or should I say, Mrs. Mustang?” With that, he ducked out before Roy could make good on the threat.

“Sorry,” said Roy, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose. “Though it doesn’t seem like it, he really is a nice guy. And he won’t go running his mouth off.” He looked sidelong at her. “You’re aware of the fraternization laws?” 

“Yes, of course. I didn’t anticipate they would ever become a problem, since I’m not under your direct command.” 

“Still,” he said. 

“Still,” she agreed. 

A rapport of gunshots sounded outside, startling them both, and the camp erupted into commotion—shouts, sirens, more gunfire. Roy stood, pulling his gloves back on. 

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Riza—”

She saluted again.

“Major Mustang, sir,” she said. 

He did a double take and visibly recentered himself.

“Cadet Hawkeye,” he said. “You should report to your post.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, following as he ducked out of the tent. Just for a moment, he paused.

“Stay safe,” he said brusquely. 

“Yes, sir. Yourself as well, sir,” she said, and watched him stride off, coat flapping.

It was time to return to the battlefield. 

::


	5. July-September 1908

**July 1908**

Riza returned from Ishbal with a commendation, a tendency to insomnia, and a scar that itched like hell and pulled at the skin on her back whenever she moved. 

She hadn’t yet graduated from military academy. When she returned for the graduation ceremony, she couldn’t help but notice the amount by which her cohort had been reduced. How many dead? How many discharged with injuries? How many deserted? She didn’t know.

She quietly put in a request for leave, which was granted easily enough. After all, the war was over. What was there left for soldiers to do? 

She went back to East City and the cheapest rented rooms she could find. Her time was equally divided between dozing fitfully on her stomach on the decrepit sofa and applying ointment to her back. Remembering what life was like without desert sand in her throat and the crack of gunfire in the background. 

And then, to her surprise, she had a job offer. 

Or, to be more precise, she had the offer of a transfer to a position under the command of one Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, effective the day after her leave was up. 

The transfer papers had a note enclosed in a familiar hand, short and to the point. 

_ Private Hawkeye—  _

_If you still believe in that dream, come work for me. I’m not done yet._

_Yours truly,_

_ Roy Mustang _

::

“Second Lieutenant,” he said in greeting, when she reported to the building specified in her transfer papers. He looked thin and tired, but there was a clarity to his eyes she hadn’t seen in Ishbal. They were alone in his new office, still mostly bare, which may have been why he asked, softly: “How is your back?”

“Itches like all hell, sir,” she said, and regretted it as a pang of guilt crossed his face. “Healing,” she amended. “My mobility is quite good.” 

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “I’ll be honest. I’m aiming for the top, and I want you as my personal aide while I do it.” At her silence, he raised an eyebrow. “Problem, Second Lieutenant? You can speak freely.”

She was thinking, a dozen different threads unfurling in her mind. She began with the most obvious.

“Is that wise, sir? Were I to serve directly under you, neither of us would have a defense against the court-martial if things were to be...revealed. As things stand, I feel I would more of a liability to you than an asset.” 

“On the contrary,” he said. “You’re the only person that can do this job. You’ve placed a lot of trust in me over the years. You trusted me with your hand. You trusted me with your father’s work. You trusted me when I was a naive idiot who thought he could change the world. Well, maybe I’m still naive, because I haven’t given up on that, and I want you to hold me to it. This time, I’m entrusting my back to you. Watch my back, and I’ll make that dream we talked about come true. And if I stray from that path, you’re also responsible for taking me out.”

He paused.

“I’m asking you properly this time. Will you follow me?”   


There was only one answer she could give. For the first time, she felt that whatever uneven tentative thing that existed between them, that bound them together, had equalized. They weren’t children anymore. They had both walked into this with open eyes and that—that was something.  

“Even into hell, if you wish it,” she said.

He sat back and stripped off his gloves, surveying his left hand. Seeing the ring gave Riza a strange sense of vertigo, a startling moment of disorientation before she remembered why it was there. 

“It seems I won’t be able to wear this for a while,” he said, wryly, working the ring off his finger. He held it up to the light, staring absently at it. “How long has it been?” he asked finally. “You’ve always had a better memory for details.” 

“Five years,” she said. 

“Five years already,” he said. “We’ve skipped one or two anniversaries, I guess.” He sighed, and reached into his coat to unhook his state alchemist’s watch. As she watched, he slipped the ring onto the chain so it hung next to the watch. Then he tucked it back into his pocket. 

“I look forward to working with you, Second Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

She saluted.

“Likewise, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, sir.” 

::

**September 1908**

It took some getting used to. Not the work so much, but the act of reconciling Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, with Roy Mustang, her father’s apprentice and the man she had married. As the Lieutenant Colonel, he was looser. More brash. Freer with smiles and flirtation. It was as if he was wearing a paper mask of his own face: two versions of the same man, layered one on top of the other.

It made her uneasy; she didn’t like the idea of him pretending to be someone he wasn’t. But she appreciated the motive—better to appear non-threatening and strike from the back than waste energy on posturing—so she managed to largely put the uneasiness aside. Part of it was made easier by the fact that the role he had chosen for her was compatible with her own personality.

“I don’t need you to act,” he had said when they’d talked about it. “I just need you to behave as you actually would towards a bumbling, irresponsible superior officer. Observers will see you for what you are: a naturally hardworking and capable officer making the best of the situation because you’re too conscientious to complain.”

“Thank you, I think,” Riza had said. He had laughed.

“Trust me, it’s a compliment.”

There were advantages to her posting in East City, however. Rebecca Catalina had been in the same year as her at military academy, and although Rebecca was outgoing while Riza was reserved, they got along well. Rebecca had been kind to the too-serious and too-quiet cadet Riza had been, and for that she was grateful. Once they realized they were stationed in the same city it was easy enough for them to meet up in the canteen once a week to chat and catch up.

“Oh, hey,” said Rebecca one day, over coffee (Rebecca, who took it black and strong) and tea (Riza, who had never acquired the taste for coffee even at the front). “I’m going to the movies with this sergeant on Friday, we’ll probably go out dancing afterward. He has a friend who’s single, if you wanted to make it a double date. Single and pretty good-looking,” she added, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Likes dogs.”

Riza smiled.

“That’s kind of you, Rebecca, but I’m not really interested,” she said. She’d been gently rebuffing Rebecca’s attempts to set her up with a boyfriend for so long that it was just a part of their friendship now.

“Mm _hmm_ ,” said Rebecca, taking a long sip of her coffee. “And don’t think I don’t know why. You’ve got a man already, don’t you?”

Riza put down her cup and sighed. Not this again. It was a little funny how someone could be so right and so wrong at the same time.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone,” she said, quite honestly. “Same as the last three times you asked me.”

Rebecca snorted.

“Yeah, right. I’ve seen _that_ —” she made a gesturing indicating something hanging from her neck. “No woman wears a ring like that unless she’s serious about someone.”

“It’s a memento from my father,” said Riza calmly, sipping her tea. Not a lie either, technically.

Rebecca narrowed her eyes like she didn’t believe it.

“I don’t believe it,” she announced.

“Well, it’s true,” said Riza nonchalantly. Rebecca continued to stare at her, drumming her fingers on the table.

“He didn’t break your heart, did he?”

Riza leveled a look at her.

“I’m just saying, if he did, I’ll crush his balls like grapes.” She clenched a fist to illustrate the point.

“I think you need to find a more productive hobby to channel your frustration,” said Riza. “Have you tried knitting?”

“I’ll find out eventually,” Rebecca promised.

“Let me know how that goes,” said Riza. For a moment she wondered what would happen if she explained. _I married this man to get out of my father’s house when I was too young to know any better, and now he’s my boss and I’m the person he trusts to watch his back. We’re not together, but we’d still both be court-martialed if the military found out._ Any way she phrased it, it would sound ludicrous. Best not to bring it up at all.

“Hmph,” said Rebecca with a pout, leaning forward and propping her chin on her fist. “Fine. How’s working for Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, then? I hear he’s quite the womanizer.”

Now this, Riza could give an answer to.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said coolly. “It’s hard enough to manage anything he does in the office, what he does in his free time is beyond me.”

“Ugh,” said Rebecca. “The worst kind of officer.”

“Mm,” agreed Riza. “I swear, he slacks off the moment I step out of the room.” She sighed and glanced at her watch. “Speaking of which…”

“Back to babysitting duty?”

“Unfortunately,” said Riza. “Same time next week?”

“Works for me,” said Rebecca.

“See you then,” said Riza, getting up and draining the rest of her tea. As she put her empty mug in the dish collection, she got a clean one and poured a fresh cup of coffee with two sugars to take back upstairs.

The lieutenant colonel was on the phone as she came back in, but he looked up as she entered.

“Uh-oh,” he said, and then, into the phone: “Lisette, I’m going to have to call you later. My taskmaster is back.” He listened intently, then broke out into hearty laughter. “Yes, that’s very true! Bye now!”

Riza kept her face blank. Lisette, a diminutive blonde with a breathy voice, doll-like features, and a sharp memory, was apparently a great favorite of many higher-ranking officers in East City. Riza had met her a couple weeks earlier, along with a few other women the lieutenant colonel had enlisted as part of his intelligence network.

“Enjoy your break, Second Lieutenant?” he asked as she approached.

“Very much,” she said, and set the mug of coffee down next to him. “I had the opportunity to catch up with Second Lieutenant Catalina, who I know from military academy. We discussed our respective bosses.”

“Second Lieutenant, were you blackening my name?” He took a sip of coffee. “That’s not a very good way to get promoted.”

“I’m sure I only reported the facts,” she said, straight-faced, and watched his mouth twitch behind his coffee cup.

“Say, is Second Lieutenant Catalina single?” he asked.

“I believe she’s currently seeing a sergeant, unfortunately. I’m told the sergeant’s friend is very handsome, but he’s probably not what you’re looking for.”

He paused, and she went still, echoing him. She didn’t think she had said anything that deviated from their normal dry banter.

“She invited you, then?”

It was her turn to pause before responding. This didn’t feel like part of the charade.

“She did, sir. I turned it down,” she said carefully.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your social life,” he said. “By all means, go. Live a little, Second Lieutenant.”

“Nonsense,” she said severely, not a little discomfited. “There’s far too much work to do.”

“Yeah, stop trying to give Second Lieutenant Hawkeye days off just because _you_ want days off,” put in Second Lieutenant Havoc, and Riza gave an internal sigh of relief at the course-correction.

“Don’t leave, Second Lieutenant,” said Master Sergeant Fuery, slightly piteously. “Or else we’d never get anything done.”

“I appreciate your concern,” she said quietly but firmly to the lieutenant colonel. “But I find that my life is quite full already. Dating isn’t a priority for me.”

She watched it sink in, his dark eyes unblinking. Then he laughed and looked away.

“Such a committed worker, Second Lieutenant,” he said, and she watched the mask slide seamlessly over his face again. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s called having integrity, sir,” she said. “I highly recommend it.”

“Never heard of it,” he said, taking a sip of coffee, and spun around in his chair to gaze out the window. The moment was past, the charade continuing as if it had never stopped. Riza breathed out and returned to her work.

::


	6. October 1908

**October 1908**

At least half of the work of a senior officer was schmoozing with other senior officers. So ever since he was established in East City, Roy had made it a habit to meet with Lieutenant General Grumman at least once a week, which was always a learning experience. 

It wasn't that Roy didn't _like_ the Lieutenant General; he was a funny old character and played a mean game of chess. But Roy always got the uncomfortable feeling that he was sharper than he let on. 

"Ah, alchemy," said Grumman, swirling his tea around in his cup. "There's no doubt it's useful, but I've never been quite comfortable with alchemists. My daughter ran off with an alchemist, you know."

"Mm," said Roy blandly. Of course, he could be wrong, and Grumman could just be a dotty old man.

Grumman sighed. 

"Yes, it was quite a shame," he said. "Against my wishes, too. I haven't even met my granddaughter because my no-good son-in-law moved them to some hick town in the countryside. Even when my daughter died, he kept my granddaughter away from me." He paused. "Imagine my surprise to see her twenty years later at your side, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang."

"Mm," said Roy. 

Then his brain replayed the last fifteen seconds and he froze with his teacup halfway to his mouth. 

Grumman threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh. 

"Ohhhh, your face, my boy," he said, still laughing. "An old man can still get a rise out of you youngsters, huh? My daughter married an alchemist named Berthold Hawkeye. I understand the name is familiar to you." 

"My master in alchemy," said Roy, thinking furiously. This didn't have to be a stumbling block. He could spin his way out of it. "I never met his lady wife. I'm very sorry to say she had passed by the time I came to know him; I had no idea she was related to you, Lieutenant General. But yes, that's how I came to know Second Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"It's such a small world sometimes, isn't it?" said Grumman, beaming. He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, looking perfectly at ease. “It’s amazing what can come your way through coincidence. For example, did you know that copies of all village records get sent to the National Archives in Central? Births, deaths...” he paused, and his eyes gleamed sharp from under bushy brows. “Marriages.” 

_Oh, fuck,_ thought Roy distantly. His brain had ground completely to a halt. He groped for something to say to deflect, to explain—anything—and came up blank. 

Hawkeye was going to kill him. 

“You’re still green, Lieutenant Colonel,” said Grumman pleasantly, into his stunned silence. “Don’t forget that.”

Well. Part of ambition was recognizing a defeat when it came your way.

“Sir,” said Roy. “I understand how things may seem to you, but if you’ll allow me an opportunity to explain, I think you’ll find that I could be quite useful to you.” 

Grumman waved a dismissive hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mustang,” he snorted. “This isn’t a blackmail attempt, for god’s sake. I don’t want political favors, I want to get to know my granddaughter before I die. I would hardly jeopardize my chances by having her and her husband court-martialed. As for the matter of records—“ he shrugged. “Things happen. They get misplaced. One page from the mayoral register in a provincial town? Who’s going to notice? Provided, of course, that I can bring young Riza back into the family fold.”

Roy’s heart sank, pressing like a weight on his chest. So this was the way it was going to be. 

“My deepest apologies, but I can’t promise that, sir,” he said quietly. “It’s up to Second Lieutenant Hawkeye, and I can’t speak for her. If she doesn’t want to see you, I will not order her to. Honestly, sir, if I were her I’d tell you to go to hell. From my experience, her mother’s side of the family never did much for her.” 

Grumman was silent, contemplatively adding a little more milk to his tea. Then he looked up. 

“Good answer,” he said, smiling broadly. “If you’d tried to use her as a bargaining chip to save your own career I would have seen you run out of the military in disgrace.” 

Roy quite distinctly felt his eye twitch. He swallowed his first retort, and then his second. 

“You’re a formidable man, sir,” he said, because it was better than saying _”You’re a sly old fox and a wily bastard, and I think I hate you.”_

The worst part was that he could sympathize entirely. He’d have run himself out of the military too. 

“I’ve got a few tricks,” said Grumman modestly. 

“What remains to be seen,” said Roy, rising, “is whether you’re more formidable than my second lieutenant.” He saluted. “Lieutenant General, sir.”

And with that, he hightailed it out of the room as fast as was dignified. He wasn’t too proud to run away if it meant getting the last word. 

::

Riza noticed immediately that something was wrong when the lieutenant colonel got back from his meeting with Lieutenant General Grumman. He went straight back into his office without stopping to talk to anybody, his jaw tight and his hands clenched into fists. 

“Er,” said Falman, who had been about to deliver a report. 

“Uh-oh,” said Havoc. “He’s in a mood.” 

A hollered “Second Lieutenant!” rang through the open office door. There was no doubt who he meant. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Riza murmured to Falman. “Leave the report till later. There’s no need to yell, sir,” she said reproachfully to the lieutenant colonel, carefully closing the door behind her. 

He turned, abashed.

“Sorry,” he said. “Riza—you’d better sit. I have something to tell you.” 

She sat, sufficiently alarmed by the use of her first name not to challenge him. 

He told her about his conversation with Grumman from the beginning without pause, although he kept glancing at her anxiously as if to gauge her reaction. 

“I told him it was up to you,” he finished. “And it is. If you don’t want to meet him, you don’t have to.” 

“Well, I don’t have a problem with that,” said Riza, slightly surprised. “I think...” She looked down at her hands. “I think I’d like to meet him.” 

“You do? I hadn’t thought...”

“Why not? The past is in the past,” she said, puzzled. “It was my father who held the grudge against my mother’s family, not me. To be honest, I had always meant to try and get into contact with them, but…” She gave a one-shouldered shrug, encompassing all the years in between then and now. 

He huffed out a laugh and scrubbed a hand through his hair. 

“What’s so funny?’

“I’ve underestimated you once again, I see,” he said wryly. “I may have given the Lieutenant General the impression you harbored resentment still. Perhaps I was projecting my own feelings onto the situation…”

She took a moment to parse this. 

“Are you saying you got angry on my behalf?” she asked, and watched, fascinated, as a blush spread across his face. 

“Ahhh…maybe,” he hedged. “Look, I know it’s stupid, I let my pride get in the way—”

“Thank you,” she interrupted, and then looked down at her hands. “Thank you,” she repeated more softly. “But really, you don’t have to protect me from this. I know my own mind.” 

He looked at her for a long moment. 

“Believe me,” he said. “That, I have never doubted.”

::

 

“Ah, Second Lieutenant Hawkeye. Please, come in,” said Lieutenant General Grumman, looking up as she was waved into his office by his own adjutant. “I take it Lieutenant Colonel Mustang will not be joining us?”

“He sends his apologies, sir,” said Riza, saluting. “He was unavoidably called away. I do have the paperwork you requested.” 

“Well, better give it here, then,” said the lieutenant general, slapping his desk. “I’m sure you can report at least as well as Mustang, or he wouldn’t have sent you. Major Travers? The door, please.”

“Yes, sir,” said the adjutant and shut it behind him.

“Well,” said Grumman. “It’s good to properly meet you, Second Lieutenant.” 

“You as well, sir,” she replied, relaxing a little at his use of her rank. The thought of forced intimacy made her stomach clench. He sat back for a moment, just looking at her. Took off his glasses. 

“You really do look like a lot like your mother,” he said softly.

Riza’s chest clenched, and she struggled to draw breath for a minute.

“I’ve always been told I looked like my father,” she said hoarsely. She’d taken it as gospel, especially when she could see her father’s beaky nose and hooded eyes on her own face every time she looked into the mirror. 

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I saw my daughter in you even before I heard your last name. Please, sit.”

She sat, wordlessly. 

“I’m afraid I had a bit of fun at your young man’s expense,” he said apologetically. “It gave him a good scare. But it seems he has his head on straight, anyhow.” 

“My young man? You mean Lieutenant Colonel Mustang?” 

He chuckled. 

“Yes, indeed. You’re very lucky. He obviously cares for you a great deal.” 

She wished, with sudden, startling intensity, that it was as simple as that. 

_But where would that have left you?_ a voice in the back of her mind whispered. _Where would that have left him?_ The loss of two soldiers, even if one was a State Alchemist, wouldn’t have stopped Ishbal. Maybe they could have remained ignorant, but they would still have been complicit. 

It might have made things simpler, but it wouldn’t have made them _right._

In the face of this tangle of emotions, it seemed safer to say nothing at all. He must have taken her silence for displeasure, because he sighed. 

“Oh dear. I apologize if I intruded on something too personal,” he said. “I told myself I wasn’t going to pry into your affairs too much, but I’m a nosy old man by nature.” 

“No, you’re not prying,” she reassured him. “I’m simply not used to talking about it—neither of us are,” she added. “And there’s...a lot of history.” Not wrong, but misleading. 

“I can imagine,” said the Lieutenant General kindly. “And I can understand if you don’t want to share it, but I must admit I’m hoping I can hear about it. Perhaps not today—” he added, forestalling her protest with a raised hand. “But whenever you feel comfortable, my dear. For now, is there anything you’d like to ask _me_? I get the sense that Berthold did not tell you overmuch about this side of the family.”

The kindness of the offer, unexpected and all the more fatal for it, left her aching. 

“I’d—” She had to clear her throat. “Thank you. I’d like that.” 

::


	7. November 1909

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here we are again! sorry it's been a minute, life was kicking my ass for a bit there, but i got a nice long juicy one for ya tonight
> 
> this was an especially hard chapter to edit, and i want to thank jediseagull again for pushing me on it. it really is much better after her suggestions, you have no idea.

**November 1909**

Roy scrawled one last signature on the paperwork before him and threw his pen aside. There. He was done—for now, at least. He worked the kinks out of his neck, yawned and stretched. It was a slow afternoon, heavy on paperwork and light on anything interesting to do, and he’d caught himself nodding off several times already. Time for a break, he thought. Stretch his legs. 

He passed Hawkeye’s desk on the way out. 

“Just getting coffee,” he said. 

“Don’t dawdle,” she replied automatically, not looking up from her own work. He flapped a hand in acknowledgement and made his leisurely way down the hall to the small kitchenette where there was a sink and an electric coffee pot. He took down two mugs and reached up to the higher shelf, where a canister of tea was neatly tucked behind a box of napkins. While he started the coffee pot, he also put some water on the small two-burner range to boil. 

Probably now was the time to bring it up, he thought as he stared into space. Couldn’t very well delay much longer. 

One cup of coffee, strongly brewed, with two sugars. One black tea, with a little milk. He went back down the hall and straight to Hawkeye’s desk. 

“Tea?” he asked, perching on the edge of her desk and offering the mug. It was mostly a rhetorical question. He knew very well she usually got a cup around this time, and she hadn’t yet had one that day.

“Oh. Yes, thank you, sir,” she said. 

“Hey,” said Breda. “How come you bring Second Lieutenant Hawkeye tea, but when I ask for a sandwich from the canteen I get jack shit?”

“Because the second lieutenant does valuable work around here, unlike you freeloaders,” said Roy automatically. 

“Says the man who’s never in the office after 5 PM,” said Havoc sardonically, and sighed. “What is it about higher-ranking men that makes them so popular with the ladies?” 

“Do you _want_ a court martial?” demanded Roy good-naturedly. “Get back to work.” He waited for their focus to shift away before turning to Hawkeye. “Second Lieutenant. A moment in my office?”

“Of course, sir.” 

He slid off the desk and led the way back to his office, gesturing for her to close the door behind her. “I’m sure you are are aware,” he began, “that I have to be in Central next week for state alchemist evaluations. You’ll be accompanying me.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve already booked the train tickets.”

Of course she had. He suppressed a smile. 

“While we’re there, I have a related request,” he continued. “I should be clear, it’s not coming from me as your superior officer. It’s not an order; you’re free to decline.”

Predictably, she didn’t even look fazed. 

“Yes, sir?”

“I was wondering,” said Roy, “since we’re going to Central anyway, if you’d be willing to meet my foster mother. As my aide—” he hastily clarified as she blinked, twice. Practically an expression of shock, for her. “I mean, that is. Mostly.” 

She blinked a third time, then raised a single eyebrow. It spoke volumes. 

“I explained to her about, you know,” he said, waving a hand to encompass their whole...situation. “And she made it clear she thought I was an idiot. But she wants to meet any woman I’m involved with—I mean—ah, dammit.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. 

A corner of her mouth twitched.

“That would be fine,” she said. “I understand a mother’s concern for her son.”

“I’m not totally sure _I’m_ the one she’s concerned for,” he said, half to himself. He _really_ hadn’t been looking forward to this meeting, but he’d already put it off long enough; if Aunt Chris was going to yell at him regardless he might as well get it over with. 

She gave him a blank look and continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. 

“Is there anything in particular I should keep in mind?”

“No, just be yourself, and you should do just fine,” said Roy, hoping against hope it was true. 

::

A week later, Roy stood in the nearly empty front room of the bar where he’d grown up and watched as his aunt surveyed Hawkeye, taking in her severely cropped hair, her neatly pressed uniform, her lack of makeup. Aunt Chris blew out a stream of smoke from the corner of her mouth. Then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing.

“I guess I underestimated you, Roy-boy,” she said to Roy, chuckling, and then held out a regal hand to Hawkeye. “Chris Mustang.” 

Hawkeye accepted the handshake with equanimity. 

“Riza Hawkeye. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” she said politely. 

“Likewise, I’m sure,” said his aunt with a wide smirk. “We have a lot to talk about, Miss Hawkeye.”

“Please, call me Riza,” said Hawkeye, to all appearances completely calm. Roy tried not to shift from foot to foot in agitation. 

“Riza, then,” said his aunt, and turned her gimlet gaze on him. “Alright, off with you, Roy. Make yourself scarce while Riza and I talk. A couple of your sisters are in the back, you can go say hello.”

“Er,” said Roy. This hadn’t been in his plans. “I don’t think—”

“I know you heard me,” said his aunt, taking another drag on her pipe. “Don’t make me ask twice.” 

Nothing like being faced with his guardian to make a grown man feel like a disobedient child again. With a mental apology to Hawkeye, Roy decided to cut his losses.

“As you say, Madame,” he said, and promptly staged a strategic retreat. 

Two of his older sisters, Trina and Annette, and a younger girl, Nellie, were in the back room playing cards and gossiping. They greeted him warmly, ruffling his hair and asking how he had been. 

“Cigarette, Roy?” asked Trina, pulling out a pack. At nearly forty, she was Aunt Chris’s chosen successor and junior partner. He had to look hard to pick out the crow’s feet beneath the coat of makeup. 

“Why not?” he said, taking one and passing the pack to Annette, who nodded in thanks. For a moment there was only the click of lighters and a collective sigh as everyone exhaled.

“So,” said Trina, leaning forward. “That girl you brought with you.”

Roy groaned and tipped his head back. 

“Ohhhhh, no,” he said. “Not you too.” 

Trina held up her hands defensively. 

“I just want to know if she’s _the_ girl,” she said reproachfully. “Can’t I take an interest in your life? And after I helped raise you.” She clucked her tongue and Annette snorted. 

Roy sighed. 

“Yes,” he said. “She is _the_ girl. Happy?” 

Annette blew out smoke.

“She’s pretty,” she observed. “In a fresh-faced way. Nice eyes.” 

“I wish my hair were that color naturally,” said Nellie, critically examining a strand of her own dye job. She sighed. “So many men only like blondes.” 

“It doesn’t matter if she’s pretty,” said Roy, who had in fact tried as hard as possible not to think about the subject. “Because we’re _not really married.”_

“In my experience,” said Annette. “If the village priest says you’re married, then you’re married.” 

“And what would you know?” said Nellie. “Been married much, have you—ow!” Annette had pinched her in the side.

“Brought her to meet Madame, though, didn’t you?” said Trina. “When was the last time you brought a woman here?”

It had been never, and they both knew it. Roy eyed her balefully. She raised an eyebrow.

“Just saying,” she said innocently. 

::

“You understand, I’m sure, that when Roy told me about this girl he had married, I thought he had made a mistake,” said Chris Mustang, settling back in her chair. She was a formidable-looking woman with a steely gaze and air of unflappability. Riza had the distinct impression that life had tried to push her down more than once but had been met each time with a will as hard as flint. 

Riza’s stomach twisted. Normally she didn’t much care what people thought of her, but this was different. This was _important._ The unfamiliar feeling made her jittery, but she willed herself to stay calm. She could tell already that Madame Mustang’s regard would not come easily, and acting like a eager-to-please fool probably wouldn’t help. 

“You see,” Madame Mustang continued, “that boy’s first love has always been—” she tapped the butt of her cigarette holder on her forehead and pointed off into the distance “—that thing he’s got his eyes fixed on. That dream of his. I was worried he’d dragged in some woman who was too weak-willed to say no to him. But now that I see you, you’re just the same as he is, aren’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t be working for him if I didn’t believe in what he was doing, ma’am,” said Riza. It seemed the simplest way to sum up the situation, and was easier than admitting that at this point, it was as much about believing in Roy himself as in their shared vision. 

“Hm,” said the older woman, watching Riza with hooded eyes. “You seem more grounded than he is.”

“I watch his back,” said Riza. It was exactly because she didn’t have Roy’s tendency to sweeping vision that he trusted her to do that. To keep him on the right path.

“Let him know when he fucks up?” 

Riza huffed out a laugh, surprised at the other woman’s blunt language. She knew that Madame Mustang was Roy’s aunt, not his birth mother, but all of a sudden she could see the family resemblance clear as day. But where Roy had done his best to hide his edges away, to make himself as smooth and appealing as possible, Madame Mustang clearly hadn’t bothered. Riza could appreciate that. 

“Something like that,” she said. 

“Good,” said Madame Mustang. “Good. He needs that sometimes.” She shifted, blowing smoke out her nostrils like a dragon, and Riza had the sudden nonsensical thought that Roy had come by his affinity for fire from this woman. 

“Riza,” she said. “You know Roy isn’t my son by blood. But I did raise him, so he is my son in the ways that matter. And while I’m not sure being married to my son and following him on his path is the safest or easiest thing for _you_ , I’m damn grateful you chose to do it anyway.” 

“Thank you,” said Riza. Honesty compelled her to add: “I’m not sure if the Lieutenant Colonel—Roy—has told you, but we’re not…” 

“Aren’t you?” Madame Mustang interrupted. “You may be young, my girl, but you’re not naive. You must know that what people do or don’t do between the sheets isn’t the sum of who they are to each other. There’s couples that have slept in the same bed for thirty years that are still strangers, when it comes down to it.”

Riza struggled to come up with a response, but all she could manage to do was stare blankly. She felt like everything had just shifted around her, leaving her dizzy. She had always thought of it as one thing or the other. Husband _or_ superior officer. Wife _or_ trusted bodyguard. And they had already made the choice. Hadn’t they? 

The other woman’s expression softened a little.

“Well, you _are_ young, after all. But as far as I’m concerned, you are the woman who chose to stand by my son as his partner, and that makes you my daughter-in-law. Everything else is just the wrapping. It doesn’t change what’s inside.” 

“I—thank you,” said Riza finally, thoughts still whirling. She _was_ grateful for the sentiment, but she still felt as though she had been granted it under false pretenses. Which—she wasn’t sure _why_ , exactly; neither she nor Roy had set out to deceive his mother. Riza herself had been nothing but honest the whole conversation. 

Perhaps that was the problem. Madame Mustang knew the truth, or at least as much of it as Riza could manage to say aloud, and she had drawn a conclusion Riza had never even begun to arrive at. 

“Not at all,” said Madame Mustang magnanimously, either oblivious to or—more likely—ignoring Riza’s inner turmoil. “This has been enlightening, I’m so glad we had this talk. Now, we should probably be getting back before Roy frets himself into a state.” 

::

“Roy! How many times have I told you that smoking is a filthy habit?”

Roy jumped and stubbed his cigarette out automatically, Aunt Chris’s tone of voice transporting him back to his teenage years. By the time he realized what he was doing, it was hard to recover with dignity. 

“If you say so, Madame,” he said, shooting a pointed look at the omnipresent cigarette holder caught between her first two fingers. She ignored him, which was pretty much typical of the last fifteen years. That was how she’d handled him pointing out her hypocrisy when he was a teenager, too. 

“And you girls,” she said. “I don’t pay you to laze around, do I?” 

“Yes, Madame,” chorused Annette and Nellie. Trina merely stubbed out her own light and swept up the cards with practiced ease, brushing a kiss to Roy’s cheek as she left the room. 

“Bye, Roy,” said Annette, following suit. Nellie hurried after her with a wave and an echoed, “Bye, Roy!” 

“Riza tells me you have to be at your evaluation at 3 PM?” asked his aunt.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Roy with trepidation, wondering if she was finally going to chew him out. Maybe she had been waiting till she was done with Hawkeye in order to get a full list of his sins. That would certainly the comprehensive way of doing it. 

“You’d better get going, then,” was all she said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate the visit, Roy-boy. And Riza—“ she pointed with her cigarette “—think about what I said.” 

...Okay, maybe she was going for a more psychological approach. If so, it was working. 

“I will, ma’am,” said Hawkeye smoothly, while Roy tried not to panic. Aunt Chris nodded approvingly and turned to Roy again.

“Do well, you hear?”

“Always, Madame,” he said, tipping his hat reflexively as she turned away, clearly done with him. 

Well. Apparently that was that. 

::

He waited till they were outside before giving in to his curiosity.

“What did you talk about?” 

Her gaze slid sideways, away from him, and he could see her weighing in her head how much to tell him.

“Your mother was kind enough to give me some advice,” she said finally, still not meeting his eyes. It was just evasive enough of an answer to set off alarm bells in the back of his mind, and he was suddenly _very_ interested in the content of the conversation. 

“Oh? About what?” he asked, aiming for casual. 

“About men,” she said simply. And then, mouth quirking up as if smiling at a private joke: “About how things are between men and women.”

“Fucking _hell,”_ said Roy, completely forgetting his manners in sheer horror. “Nevermind. Nevermind! That’s quite enough. Forget I asked.” He was sure he had broken out in a cold sweat, and it took a moment for his heartbeat to recover.

“Of course, sir,” she said, and he stole a glance at her, a suspicion growing in his mind. 

“Did you do that on purpose?” he demanded. 

“You asked, sir,” she said innocently, and Roy groaned. 

“I guess I did deserve it,” he said, and she shot him that quick flash of a smile again before squaring her shoulders and assuming her default stoic expression. “My apologies for prying into your private affairs, Second Lieutenant,” he said, more formally. She gave a crisp nod in response.

“Your apology is accepted, sir.” 

Just like that, they were back to officer and subordinate again. 

Again? Where had that thought come from? They _were_ officer and subordinate. Maybe once there had been the opportunity for something else, but not anymore. That was just the way it was, no matter what his family said.

::


	8. August-December 1911

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter after this might take a while to go up, i need to do some more substantial rewrites on it, but it should be by the end of the week!

**August 1911**

Roy had made a grave mistake. 

When it had become apparent that they were going to need a strategy other than ‘go in guns blazing’ to deal with the Aerugian smugglers funneling arms to an anti-government cell in East City, a small, discreet surveillance team had been the obvious choice. Having them go in undercover? Even better. He could direct them from a distance without letting any potential informants get wind of the operation.

It had been a good plan. It _was_ a good plan. It just had some...unforeseen complications. 

Roy tugged at his collar. Had the damn thing shrunk in the wash? He didn’t remember it being nearly so tight. 

“Is something wrong, Roy?” said Hawkeye from the other end of the phone. Her voice was different: an octave higher, the tone warmer. It was doing unexpected and unwanted things to the pit of Roy’s stomach. “You seem nervous.”

He gave his best carefree chuckle. It came out rather strained. 

“What can I say? I’m just struck dumb by you, Elizabeth.”

There was a disbelieving snort from somewhere on the other side of the room, from someone who’d heard him have a variation on this conversation fifty times over. Well, you reap what you sow. They had no way of knowing how different _this_ particular exchange was. 

Having a coded conversation with your subordinate was one thing, having a coded conversation with your _secret wife_ was quite another. 

“Flatterer,” she said, sounding coolly amused. Damn it, wasn’t this embarrassing for her too?

“No, it’s true,” he insisted. “You’re not like all the others.” It was a little too close to the truth to say so lightly. 

He was drawing dirty looks from junior officers all over the room. He flashed them a cheerful grin to cover his nerves and twirled his pen between his fingers. 

On the other end of the line, there was silence. 

“Come on, Elizabeth. Don’t get shy on me now. Or at least wait till we’re together so I can see your cute face.” He turned his chair towards the window to hide a wince. She’d probably get him back for that one. 

“Sorry,” she said after a moment. “Kate asked me a question, and I had to step away from the phone for a moment.” Now her voice was markedly cooler. He could almost see her shoulders stiffening, her chin dipping defensively the way it did anytime he said anything even vaguely approaching a compliment that wasn’t about her work. 

Great. Now he had made her uncomfortable. And—he experienced a jolt of realization—he had forgotten that Fuery was listening in on the whole conversation. 

Well. That was a situation he would have to deal with. Evidence, he could burn. Subordinates, not so much. He wondered about the possibility of memory erasure. Hypnotism? Or maybe a few good strong drinks would do it. Fuery was a lightweight. 

Out loud, he said: “No problem at all, Elizabeth. I hope I’m not taking you away from your work.”

“It’s a pretty slow day,” she said. “I might have to leave to if it gets busy, but for now I can stay on the line.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Roy. “Means there’s less chance of some other man coming along and stealing you away!”

She laughed.

“Oh, Roy! You’re such a kidder!” 

“I’m dead serious when it comes to you, Elizabeth,” he insisted, telling himself he was playing the part of a seasoned suitor. It was just what his character would say. 

“Mmmhmmm,” she said, richly dubious. “You’re an incorrigible flirt is what you are, Roy Mustang. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Roy nearly dropped the telephone in shock, his heart suddenly going double time. He had to cover it with a cough, and by the time he got the receiver back in place she was speaking again. 

“Oh, a customer just came in,” she said. “Hold on a moment, Roy, I need to call Jacqueline to take care of him.” 

He sat up, embarrassment forgotten as excitement coursed through him. That was the signal. Their prey had taken the bait, and the hunt was on.

::

**December 1911**

Roy wasn’t a big drinker, usually. His standard strategy was to always have a half-full glass in his hand and swap it out occasionally as everyone got progressively drunker around him. After all, you never knew what people would say under the influence. It was worthwhile to pay attention.

But thanks to the twin successes of catching the Aerugian arms dealers and netting a powerful new state alchemist in Edward Elric, they’d all just been promoted, and he’d promised to buy a round for the whole team since he was a _colonel_ now and all. So they’d gone to the bar near HQ, and one round had turned into another, which had turned into another, and now Roy remembered _why_ he didn’t drink often. He was pretty sure he was sitting still, but the room seemed to be spinning. It was very unsettling.

He groaned and put his head down on the bar. Somewhere adjacent, a group of men that probably included Havoc was chanting “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” Someone stumbled back into him and something suspiciously damp and sticky splashed down the back of his collar. He groaned louder, but it was drowned out in the raucous cheer that went up from the group.

“Heeeeeeey, Colonel!” Oh, god, it _was_ Havoc. “What’re you doing down there? You’re missing the party!”

Roy squinted up at him. 

“I’m resting,” he said with great dignity. 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” said Havoc. “Hey guys, it’s the man of the hour!” He grabbed Roy’s unresisting arm and hoisted it into the air to another cheer from the crowd.

“Urk,” said Roy as his world lurched violently. He sagged off the barstool like so much dead weight. 

“C’mon, Colonel, get off the floor, you bastard,” said Havoc, his head swimming in and out of Roy’s vision.

“I like it here,” replied Roy. “It’s not moving.”

“Alright, if you say so,” said Havoc, apparently losing interest. “Hey, barkeep! Another round!”

Roy tipped his head back against the bar and by habit began a headcount. Havoc, check. Breda he could see across the room, steadily working his way through a pint. Falman and Fuery, in the corner, staying out of the fray.

“Where’s Hawkeye?” he said aloud. No one answered. He scanned the room again, looking for blonde hair and a familiar sharp profile. 

He latched onto a barstool and began slowly pulling himself upward.

“Hey, Havoc,” he said, louder this time. “Where’s Hawkeye?” 

“Huh?” said Havoc. “The lieutenant? I don’t know. She was here earlier.” 

“Where is she?” said Roy, propping himself up against the bar with some difficulty. Urgency was building in a hard knot under his ribs. “I need to find her.” 

“Okay, okay,” said Havoc, and turned to yell across the room. “Hey, Breda! You seen the lieutenant?”

Roy didn’t hear how Breda responded. He was too busy looking around the room. It was a military bar, so there was a veritable sea of blue uniforms around. 

“I need to find Hawkeye,” he told Havoc, more insistently this time. Havoc was too far in the happy-drunk stage to be properly concerned. 

“Geez, geez, alright,” he said. “Calm down, Colonel. What do you need her for anyway?” 

Roy opened his mouth to tell him, then dimly remembered he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s a secret,” he said finally. “I can’t tell you.” 

Havoc squinted at him blearily. 

“Okay, whatever,” he said. 

“A _secret_ ,” Roy repeated emphatically. “So shhhhhhhhhhh.” 

“Sir? Is something wrong?” 

He turned around and was immediately light with relief. 

“Hawkeye!” he said happily. “You’re here!”

She _was_ there, giving him one of those patented blank Hawkeye looks. Breda was next to her, face flushed from alcohol but impressively steady, all things considered. 

“Sir,” she said patiently. “Did you need something?”

“He wouldn’t shut up about it,” said Havoc. “Said it was a secret.”

“ _Shhh_ ,” said Roy, annoyed. Didn’t Havoc get it? “You’re not supposed to tell anyone. Right, Hawkeye?”

Hawkeye sighed and turned to Breda.

“He’s probably had enough. I’ll take him home.” 

“You sure?” said Breda. “I could probably manage.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Hawkeye. “This is easiest.”

“Thanks,” said Breda, but Hawkeye waved it off. 

“You can help by going outside and hailing a cab,” she said, and then turned to Roy. “Come on, sir. It’s time to go.” 

“Oh? Where are we going?” he asked, gamely getting to his feet. 

“Your apartment,” she said. “You’re drunk.”

“Unfortunately,” said Roy, making his way very carefully through the crowded bar. If he moved slowly, he could probably get out without toppling over. “Remind me not to do that in the future, Lieutenant.”

“Duly noted, sir,” she said, offering him an arm. 

“In my defense, I did just get us all promoted,” he said, leaning on her. 

“Very true,” she replied. “Thanks, Sergeant,” she said to Breda, who was standing by with a cab. 

“No problem, sir,” he said. “Good luck.” 

“Thanks,” she said, smiling, and Roy frowned. He’d rather she smiled at him. “Alright, sir, into the car.”

There was a moment of confusion as they both moved at the same time. Roy stumbled over his own feet, and nearly bashed his head on the car door. She grunted in frustration and gave him a shove, sending him sprawling into the backseat.

“Ow,” he said piteously. She was surprisingly strong.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, not sounding particularly sorry. She pushed him aside to make room in the next seat and leaned forward to talk to the driver. “14 West Market Street, please.”

“Do I detect a hint of disapproval in your tone, Lieutenant?” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Can’t a man get drunk every once in a while?” 

“Of course, sir,” she said. He cracked an eye open to survey her expression. She actually looked more amused than anything. 

“I did get us all promoted,” he said.

“You’ve mentioned, sir,” she said, and _there,_ there was the smile tugging at the edge of her lips. 

“Did I? Well, it is a pretty big deal,” he said. “Are you proud of me, Hawkeye?” 

She didn’t respond, and Roy felt a lurch in his stomach like a missed step in the dark. He opened his eyes again, suddenly feeling that he had blundered into an area he wasn’t supposed to address but not sure how to walk it back.

“Always, sir,” she said after a moment and he relaxed back against the seat. 

“No burning desire to shoot me in the back?” 

“Not as of yet,” she said. “Oh, we’re here.” 

He squinted out the window. That did indeed look like his apartment. In the time it took Roy to haul himself out of the cab, almost staggering on the curb, Hawkeye had already hopped out and paid the driver. 

“Keys, sir?” she asked. He stared blankly at her. Where _were_ his keys? She sighed. “Your right front pocket, maybe?”

Ah! That was right. Smart Hawkeye. He relinquished the keys to her and let her lead the way upstairs.

“Oh. I’m drunk,” he said, as he missed the step to the landing three consecutive times. 

“Indeed,” said Hawkeye. “You’re almost there, sir.”

“Almost where?” 

“Your apartment.” 

That made sense. 

“That makes sense,” he said aloud as he managed to stumble through his front door. “Ah. Couch. Nice couch.” He made it to the couch in more or less a straight line and fell thankfully into its embrace. Then he realized he didn’t see Hawkeye anymore.

“Hawkeye?” he called, alarmed. “Where are you?” 

“Right here, sir,” she said, reappearing in the doorway to the kitchen. “I was just getting you some water.” She came to the couch and knelt down beside him. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?”

“Don’t think so,” Roy said, and yawned. 

“Mmm,” she said absently, and placed a hand to his forehead for a minute. “Well, you don’t look pale, and you’ve been pretty lucid...I think you’re fine to sleep it off. Assuming you remember where your bed is,” she added. 

“Such a lack of trust,” said Roy. “Of course I do. It’s over—” he had to think, “—over there.”

“Well, up and at’em, soldier,” she said dryly. 

“Tyrant,” he said, and with great effort hauled himself off the couch and into his bedroom. There he stripped off his jacket, shirt, and trousers, leaving himself in undershirt and boxers, before toppling gratefully into bed. Only then did he realize he forgot to turn out the light, and groaned.

Hawkeye appeared in the doorway. She had taken off her jacket and boots.

“Here,” she said, placing a glass of water and a couple pills on his bedside table. “If you wake up in the night, take these.” 

“Are you staying?” he asked. 

“I’ll be borrowing your couch, if you don’t mind. You seem fine, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.” 

“You can stay in here,” he said, flopping a hand to indicate the space beside him in the bed. “I’ve been reliably informed that’s how married couples do things.” 

She smiled.

“Not while you’re drunk, I’m afraid,” she said. “I don’t want to be woken by your snoring. Good night, sir. Congratulations on the promotion.” With that, she clicked the light off and padded away.

“Night, Hawkeye!” he called after her, already half-slipping into sleep. 

::

 

He woke to a pounding headache and Hawkeye’s voice saying his name. He groaned and pried his eyes open. It seemed far too early to be awake.

“Good morning, sir,” said Hawkeye, looking annoyingly well-rested. 

“Urgh,” said Roy, and groped at his bedside table. She intercepted him, handing him the water glass and painkillers as he was still reaching out. “What time is it?”

“0630,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” said Roy, and his eyes finally caught up with his brain. “Wait a minute, are those my pajamas?” They _were_ , he was sure of it. He recognized that blue-striped pattern. 

“I took the liberty of borrowing a pair so my uniform wouldn’t get wrinkled,” she said dispassionately, as if Roy’s heart wasn’t doing uncomfortable gymnastics in his chest. Wait. Maybe that was his body reacting to last night’s excesses. He closed his eyes for a minute, willing his stomach to settle. 

“Of course you did. Amazing, terrible, ruthless Hawkeye,” he said nonsensically. “Tell me, did I say anything embarrassing last night?”

“Mm.”

“Was it anything that could damage either of our careers?”

“I don’t believe so,” she said.

“Then I’d rather not hear it,” he said. “Let me live in ignorance for once.” 

It was a lie. Even as he said it, the recollection was washing over him in slow, mortifying waves. In the face of it, he took the coward’s way out. 

“If you say so, sir,” she said. “I’m going to head back to my apartment to take a shower. Can I expect you in at 0800 hours?” 

“I’ll do my best,” he said, and waited till he heard the sound of her footsteps receding from the room. 

Well. It had been so much a part of him that he had forgotten the shape of it. Let himself grow complacent with it, almost think it benign. Turned out it still had some sharp edges after all.

“That’s no good,” he said to himself. “You need to pull yourself together, Roy. That’s no good at all.” 

::


	9. October 1914-April 1915

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys like angst 
> 
> you might notice the chapter count has gone down, that's only because i ended up consolidating a couple sections (like these two) into one chapter cause they were too short to be good chapters on their own. i've actually ADDED wordcount in beta, and it looks like the final product will be about 23k if anyone's curious!

**October 1914**

As it turned out, Roy’s promotion to colonel was the only cause they would have for celebration for quite some time. In his memory, it marked the point just before everything went drastically downhill: before the unrest in Liore, before the emergence of Scar. Before Hughes. 

Before a monster in human form stole the woman he cared about away from his side. 

They had been so careful to avoid any scrutiny, to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. _He_ had been so careful. Tried his best not to let it show. 

He couldn’t help remembering that night at the bar as he sat in the newly empty office. Had Bradley and his agents been watching them even then? Had someone noticed the Flame Alchemist leaving with his lieutenant once and thought it noteworthy enough to remember for three years? Probably not, that would be far-fetched even for a secret cabal capable of suborning a whole country. Still, Roy couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something he said or did, some slip he made. 

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. Before he could call out, it opened.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Hawkeye, putting her head around the door.

“Lieutenant!” he exclaimed in surprise, and she gave him a quelling look. 

“I realized I forgot something,” she explained. “It’ll just take a minute.” 

“Sure,” he said, relief flooding through him at the sight of her. Of course she would find a way to meet with him one last time before she began as part of Bradley’s staff. He should have expected it. 

She walked over to the shelf and removed a few files, then turned around. 

“Oh, sir, I have a favor to ask,” she said. Her tone was light, incidental, as if she’d only just remembered off the top of her head. She set down the files and reached under her collar, pulling out a thin silver chain. 

“This is an important memento of mine,” she explained, working it over her head, as if he didn’t recognize the plain silver ring that was a twin to his own. “But it’s probably not suitable to be worn to such an important job as the Fuhrer’s bodyguard. I was wondering if you could pass it on to the person it needs to get to? For safekeeping.” 

He managed, just barely, not to react in any demonstrable way as he took the chain from her outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed, and when he pulled away the metal was still warm from her skin. 

“Of course,” he said. “It’s the least I could do.” 

He wasn’t sure whether his face betrayed him, but she glanced towards him and away before continuing.

“I’ll ask for it back eventually, so be sure not to lose it,” she said sternly. 

He huffed a laugh.

“Yes, Lieutenant.” 

“And don’t slack off.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” 

“Well, then, I should be going,” she said. “I’ll see you again.” 

“See you again, Lieutenant,” he replied, clutching the ring so hard it dug into his palm.

It would be, he realized, the first time they’d been apart for any length of time since before Ishbal. 

_Never again,_ he said to himself. Never again.

::

**April 1915**

Riza still could barely believe they had actually _won._ It still felt like a dream. This effect was probably due in part to her injuries, which had left her drained and weak. She was in a haze for what must have been at least two days, sliding from restless sleep into vivid nightmares of shadows come to life and pale corpse-men, all suffused with the deep, gnawing panic of being left behind. Of being alone. 

Although she was forbidden from anything more strenuous until her stitches healed, Riza was just well enough to walk when she was moved to the colonel’s hospital room. 

“He’s been asking after you since he heard you were in stable condition,” a nurse had told her that morning. “Wouldn’t let it go until we said we’d ask you about moving rooms. 

_There’s that good timing of his again,_ she thought, agreeing immediately and gratefully. Another nurse had come to get her only a few hours later. 

The colonel was facing away when she entered with the nurse, but his head turned sharply at the sound of the door opening. 

“Lieutenant,” he said, relief clear in his voice.

For a moment she was utterly certain she would cry. Something seemed to be all tangled up in her chest and throat, pressing painfully against her ribs. 

“Reporting for duty, Colonel Mustang, sir,” she said, miraculously managing to keep her voice steady.

“We brought her just like you asked, Colonel Mustang,” said the nurse, seemingly unaware that Riza’s heart was on the verge of bursting. “She’s got a bed right here next to yours.” 

“Thank you,” he said. “Would you mind giving us the room?”

“Of course,” said the nurse. “Let me just get the lieutenant comfortable...”

She settled Riza in a chair next to the colonel’s bed and then the door was closing behind her, leaving them alone. He turned toward her, and for a moment their eyes met, but then his cloudy gaze skipped past, staring over her shoulder. 

“Where are you?” he asked, sounding annoyed. Wordlessly, she reached out for his hand where it was roaming fitfully on the bedcovers and gave it a squeeze. He made a noise of satisfaction and squeezed back. His hand was warm and strong in hers. 

“You knew it was me,” she said. 

“You think I don’t know the sound of your footsteps after all these years?” he asked. And then: “What’s wrong?” 

“I—” said Riza, and couldn’t continue. 

“You're okay, right? You _are_ okay?” he asked, concern growing in his voice. He reached up with his other hand, fumbling till he found her face. His fingers grazed her cheek, tracing their way down the side of her face. “I keep seeing you on the ground—” 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” said Riza hoarsely, pressing his hand to the bandage on her neck. She felt a little bit of the tension drain out of his body, even as the thing in her chest squeezed tighter and tighter. 

“I don’t know what I would have done—” he began, and then, abruptly: “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I put your important memento on my watch chain and I’m pretty sure I dropped my watch in the tunnels. The damned thing probably got smashed or blown up. At any rate, I’ve got no idea where it is.” 

“That’s okay,” she said, hiccuping back a laugh. Tears were dripping down her face now. “I forgive you.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with my lieutenant?” he joked and lifted a hand to brush at her cheeks again: “Are you crying? Come on, Lieutenant, you know I’m weak to water” But his voice was wavering, and when she looked up at him through blurry eyes his face was contorted with emotion. 

She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his, throat too choked with emotion to say anything.

“Don’t go,” he said hoarsely. “Just—don’t go.” She wasn’t sure if he was referring to her leaving the hospital room or to her leaving him entirely. It didn’t matter. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. “Anywhere we have to go, we’ll go together.”

::


	10. July 1917

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which someone manages to make a move, but its probably not who you were hoping for 
> 
> or: edward elric's crimes against fashion

**July 1917**

In the two years since the Promised Day, they’d gotten used to surprise visits from both Edward and Alphonse, despite Edward having been officially discharged from the military. Normally they came asking favors or to provide information to Brigadier General Mustang, but on this particular visit Edward had specified that he wanted to talk to Riza.

“A jewelry store?” Riza asked, somewhat nonplussed. “Well, yes, I know of a couple, but why?”

To her amusement, Ed looked embarrassed. 

“Well, you see, Winry and I, we kind of, um, came to an agreement? Or something? I don’t really know how to describe it...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his head in an uncharacteristically nervous fashion. 

Riza took a moment to translate his words from teenage alchemist to emotionally competent adult.

“You proposed,” she said. Well, goodness. She had been almost sure that if anyone were to do the asking between the two of them, it would have to be Winry. 

He flushed, then grinned. 

“Yeah...I guess I did. Pretty crazy, huh?”

“Congratulations, Edward,” she said warmly. “That’s wonderful. You’ll be very happy together.” 

“Yeah,” he said, still grinning proudly. “But I need to pick a ring, you know, and I thought you’d be the best person to ask for help.”

Riza blinked in surprise. How on earth did he—did Edward know?

“Did Brigadier General Mustang tell you?” she asked, thrown.

Ed’s smile turned to a confused frown. 

“Tell me what? About buying wedding rings? I haven’t even talked to him in months. And I sure as hell don’t want the _general’s_ advice about marriage,” he added with disgust. “What would he know about it anyway?”

Riza had to laugh at that, partially out of relief. Edward looked at her oddly. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I misunderstood. But Edward, I’m really not the most knowledgeable person about the subject. Of course I’d be happy to help, but wouldn’t you rather ask someone else?”

“Well, Al’s off in Xing, and I can’t very well ask Winry herself, right? And I thought, well, you two get along, you probably know her taste pretty well…Al was very insistent I ask _someone_ to help me pick it out, no idea why…”

Riza thought of Edward’s general taste in fashion and suddenly understood Alphonse’s worries quite well. She had to swallow another laugh. 

“I see,” she said. “Well, certainly I’ll do what I can.”

“You will?” Edward sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. You’re a lifesaver, Captain.”

“Not at all,” she said, struck by how young he looked all of a sudden, like any other teenage boy worried over his sweetheart’s approval. Then, with a jolt, she remembered how young _she_ had been that day in the mayor’s office, only a year or so older than Edward was now. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

“Captain?” said Edward. “Are you okay?”

“Just got caught up in some old memories,” she said. “How long will you be in town? I can meet you on my next day off.”

::

“Just to let you know, sir,” she said later, “I won’t be available this Wednesday. It’s my day off and I have plans to meet up with Edward.” 

“Oh?” he said. “And what is Edward doing suborning my aide?”

“He and Winry are engaged,” she said. “He’s asked for my help selecting a ring.”

A slow smile spread across his face, genuine and excited. With more and more responsibility falling on his shoulders, it wasn’t an expression many people got to see anymore. It made him look about ten years younger, erasing the shrewdness from his eyes. 

“Well, well, well! So he finally asked her! Good on Fullmetal!” He paused. “Good god, they’re so young.”

Riza laughed. 

“That was my reaction too,” she said. 

“Although, I suppose we were too, when we…”

“Yes, my thoughts exactly,” said Riza, and they both chuckled. 

“There’s something to be said for not wasting any time,” he said thoughtfully. “Get your years in while you can. Better that than beating around the bush and missing your chance.”

It might not have been noticeable to anyone else, but she could hear the self-deprecation in his tone clear as day, just as she could hear the forced casual cheer in his voice as he spun his chair around and said:

“Well, they’ve both got their heads screwed on straight. They’ll be alright.” 

She lingered for a moment, glancing at the back of his head as he stared out the window. She was conscious of wanting to reassure him, but it was hard to know what to say when she wasn’t even sure why he was in this strange mood in the first place. 

While she was debating with herself, he spun his chair around again, no doubt noticing she hadn’t left the room.

“Was there anything else, Captain?” he asked.

Riza took a good look at his expression. It was blank and pleasant.

“No, sir,” she said, accepting the dismissal. Clearly whatever this was would not be resolved today. “That was all.” 

::

It was, Riza reflected, very lucky she had developed a substantial stash of patience over the years, because by the third jewelry shop it had become more than apparent that helping Edward choose a ring would be a finicky and time-consuming process. He clearly had his heart set on only the best and had strong opinions about what that constituted. Riza had already had to steer him away from several options that would be too gaudy for a Central society wife, much less a small-town automail mechanic. 

“You have to think of practicality,” she had said gently. “Pearls are very pretty, but they’re also fragile. You wouldn’t want it to get scratched by a stray piece of metal when Winry’s working.” 

And: “The engraving is certainly a...unique design, but it would trap grease fairly easily, and make it hard to clean.” 

And: “I think that might be a bit...flashy for someone Winry’s age. She doesn’t seem the type to want, um, excessive embellishment.” 

She would have been annoyed, but instead it was just strangely endearing. She could sympathize with the desire to do things right. 

While Edward mulled over the latest display of wedding rings, Riza found herself drifting along the counter to the other cases, including one of men’s jewelry: watches and cufflinks, mostly, but a few rings. She paused, noticing a square gold ring set with a smooth black stone that reflected the light—simple, compared to some of the other designs. Not showy. 

“Oh, has something caught your eye, madam?” asked the shopkeeper, eager for any opportunity to make a sale. 

“Thank you, I was just looking,” said Riza. “That black stone is very unusual.” 

“Ah, yes,” said the shopkeeper, face lighting up. “A fine piece of work.” He took a ring of keys from inside his waistcoat pocket and unlocked the glass case. “You’re very correct, madam, it is unique. This kind of stone is not particularly common in Amestris nowadays, but it’s believed the people of the ancient civilizations used it to makes ceremonial objects of great mystic power.” 

“Oh, I’ve heard of this,” said Edward, peering interestedly over at the ring. “They call it volcanic glass. It’s made when a volcano erupts and produces a lot of silica that cools quickly. The chemical composition is almost the same as everyday glass, but without the added lime and soda.” 

“Sir is knowledgeable,” said the shopkeeper, looking slightly peeved at his stone of mystic power being downgraded to nearly everyday glass. “A man of learning, then? Or perhaps an alchemist?”

“Just a dabbler,” said Edward absently. “Hmm, I wonder if it occurs more naturally in the desert? I’ll have to ask Al.”

“Thank you, but I think this isn’t quite what we’re looking for,” Riza said to the shopkeeper, putting him out of his misery. 

“That’s right, you were shopping for a young lady, weren’t you?” said the shopkeeper. “Probably not quite the thing for a young bride! But I do have several other suggestions…”

::

“Did he ever actually decide on something?” asked the brigadier general, mouth twitching as she related the events of the afternoon to him. 

“Eventually,” she said, and he laughed. 

“Whoever thought Fullmetal could be so picky?” 

“Well, it’s for Winry,” she said, tidying the stacks of paper on his desk. 

“Ha, I suppose that does change things somewhat,” he said, idly spinning his pen between his fingers. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?” she asked, puzzled.

They were behind the closed door of his inner office, so there was no one to hear when he said, still fiddling with his pen, “Do you feel you’re owed a diamond? I was too poor for one back then. We can’t all be state alchemists at the age of twelve.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, sir,” she said. There was that unhappy undercurrent in his voice again. “How could I explain my owning such a thing? It would be entirely unsuitable.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” he said consideringly. She turned back to her tidying, gathering the completed paperwork to file away. “As always.” 

“Mm,” she said, glancing at him sidelong. He put up a good show of inscrutability, but she wasn’t imagining the melancholy tilt of his eyebrows. 

The troubling thing was, they had won. They had won and they were as close to achieving the dream as they had ever been, and yet...she wasn’t sure it was enough. To even think such a thing felt like a betrayal, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the events of the Promised Day had shaken things loose in both of them that had lain dormant and buried for a long time, and she wasn’t at all sure they could go back. 

The question now was how to move forward. 

::


	11. August 1917-September 1917

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there

**August 1917**

Roy gave his best performance of surprise when Ed called to invite him to the wedding. 

"Stop that, you bastard," said Ed. "I know the captain already told you."

"Why would you think that?" asked Roy innocently. 

Ed gave a disbelieving snort. 

"Are you kidding me? You two are attached at the hip. Whenever she shows up I know your sorry ass isn’t far behind." 

Taken aback, Roy hesitated long enough for Ed to press on. 

"Anyway, for god's sake come out of uniform," he said, half demanding and half pleading. "Or else the whole wedding party will be in blue, and it’ll be totally uncool." 

Roy laughed. 

"Alright, Fullmetal, since you asked so nicely. Hmmm, I wonder what the wedding present should be..." 

"I don't want your gifts," snapped Ed. "I want my five hundred twenty cenz back. Just hurry up and become Fuhrer already."

"Don't you worry, I'm working on it," said Roy, chuckling, and hung up. As he did so, the smile slid off his face. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Ed really did have a gift for throwing him off-balance. One conversation and he had managed to remind Roy of all the things he was trying not to think about. 

He and Hawkeye had never really talked about what would happen if— _when_ —he became Fuhrer. The agreement was that she would support him until he got there, but it wasn’t as if they had a written contract that ended when he took office. He knew her well enough to know she probably wouldn’t just return to civilian life. The sense of obligation to the nation bound her just as it did him. 

But could he in good conscience ask her to remain as his aide when her own command capabilities might be better served elsewhere? If he asked, would she agree? 

He hadn’t contemplated a future without her for the better part of fifteen years, not even in those few desperate moments in the tunnels. He couldn’t say he liked the idea of it. 

::

Hawkeye was actually the last of his team to find out about Ed’s call, because she was inexplicably out of the office. 

“I don’t know,” said Havoc when Roy asked. “She just said she had an errand.” Roy thought about asking why Havoc hadn’t pushed for more, but then again he probably wouldn’t have challenged Hawkeye either. 

“Well, guess she’ll just have to wait to hear the news, then,” said Roy. “Hey, get the others, huh?”

Havoc gathered Breda, Fuery, and Falman and they all crowded into Roy’s office.

“Good news, boys,” he said. “We’re getting a vacation to Resembool. Fullmetal’s marrying his childhood sweetheart next month and we’re all invited.” 

Havoc gave a whoop of excitement, Breda a low whistle. Falman and Fuery broke into broad grins. 

“That’s great, sir!” said Fuery. 

“It’s pretty good,” agreed Roy. “Falman, you’re in charge of accomodations.”

“Yes, sir,” said Falman. “I’ll get on it right away.” 

As they filed out, Hawkeye came back in. She was pink in the cheeks like she had been outside in the late summer heat.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Did I miss something?”

“Ed called,” he said. “He and Winry set a date for next month. I was just letting the men know the good news.” 

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “We’ll need hotel rooms.”

“I already put Falman on it,” he said. “By the way, where were you?”

Her expression turned blank. 

“I had an errand,” she said in her stiffest voice. “I worked through lunch so I could take my break in the afternoon. I apologize if I neglected my duties, sir.” 

“What—no, it’s fine,” he said. “I wasn’t implying anything. For god’s sake, you’re the most conscientious person in this whole damn place. I just wondered.” 

Her shoulders went down a fraction.

“I had to go pick something up at a shop that closes by the time we leave for the evening,” she explained more naturally. “There wasn’t really any other convenient time, that’s all.” 

“Makes perfect sense to me,” said Roy easily. “Shall we get back to it?” 

::

"Okay, so I've got some good news and some bad news," said Falman, approaching Roy's desk after a long and apparently arduous phone conversation. 

"Tread carefully," said Roy without looking up from his work. Hawkeye, who was sitting next to him taking notes, kicked him under the desk. 

"Well, we have rooms for Edward and Winry's wedding," said Falman. "That's the good news. The bad news is that since Resembool is so small, it only has one inn, and I was only able to get two rooms. Sir, you and Captain Hawkeye have one room to yourselves. The four of us—" he nodded to Havoc, Breda, and Fuery, "—will share another room with two beds."

Breda shrugged. 

"Eh. Can't be worse than barracks life," he said philosophically, then looked at Hawkeye. “But that sucks, Captain.” 

“Yeah, sorry, Captain,” said Havoc. “You’ve got the rough assignment, huh?” 

“Hey, wait a minute,” said Roy. “What are you implying?”

“I think they’re implying you’re a pain to room with, sir,” said Hawkeye, with the extra-blank expression that meant she was teasing him. 

“I’ll have you know I’m a perfect gentlemen,” said Roy. “The captain can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“I’d hold him to it if I were you, Captain,” joked Havoc. 

“Don’t worry, I will,” said Hawkeye, returning to her steady note-taking.

::

**September 1917**

As it turned out, she didn’t. When they arrived at the inn after a long train ride and a simple but filling dinner at the local pub, Roy was all ready to camp out on the ground, but she just shook her head. 

“There’s no need,” she said, looking amused. “There’s enough room for both of us.” 

“You’re a gracious overlord, Captain,” he said solemnly, ducking into the adjoining bathroom to change into his pajamas and have a _very quiet_ moment of panic. When he came back out, she was also changed, hair loose, and sitting up in bed with the Central Times. She was wearing men’s style pajamas, and for one brief moment Roy let himself remember what it was like to wake up to find her wearing _his_ pajamas, as though they were actually— 

He quashed the thought as hard as he could, but his heart was still going a mile a minute as he settled tentatively between the covers. 

“Newspaper, sir?” she asked, offering the International Affairs section as if it were another day at the office. 

“Thank you, Captain,” he said automatically, accepting it. To his surprise the silence that descended was perfectly comfortable. They might have done this a hundred times for how natural it felt. That, more than anything, was what shook him.

He was staring blankly at a story on Drachma’s military expansion without actually reading it when there was a knock at the door. 

“Boss, it’s me,” came Breda’s muffled voice from the other side. 

“Come in,” called Roy, in what he thought was a pretty good attempt at normalcy.

“Hey—er.” Breda stopped halfway through the door, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. “Uh. Evening. Sir. Captain.” 

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” asked Roy, silently daring him to comment. 

“Oh, uh, Falman thought he remembered the captain picking up the Central Times at the train station and I was wondering if you had the sports section,” said Breda slowly. 

“Oh, of course,” said Hawkeye. “I just saw it...here you go,” she said, handing it over. 

“Thanks…” said Breda slowly. “Anyway. See you tomorrow morning, I guess?” 

“‘I guess?’” repeated Roy, eyebrows raised. “You seem unsure. Do you perhaps have something else you want to say, Lieutenant Breda?” 

To Breda’s credit, it didn’t take him long. 

“No, sir,” he said emphatically. “I’ll just be going now.” With that, he ducked out the door and shut it smartly behind him. Hawkeye put down her crossword and gave him a _look_. 

“There was no need for that, sir,” she said reproachfully. 

“Hey, just making sure he doesn’t get the wrong impression,” he said. “You’re the one who suggested sharing. I was perfectly fine to sleep on the floor.” 

“Well, I knew you would be cranky tomorrow if you didn’t get your beauty sleep,” she said, which was just mean. “Speaking of which, we should turn in soon. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.” 

Beauty sleep indeed. Roy lay awake for what felt like ages, trying not to let his body slide too close to Hawkeye’s on the slightly sagging mattress. It was not, he thought with slight desperation, a very _large_ bed. 

_You brought this on yourself,_ he reminded himself grimly, listening to Hawkeye’s slow breathing. _And now you just have to live with it._

It was a hell of a thing, he thought before he finally slipped into unconsciousness, to get what you always wanted, but not in a form you could keep. 

::

The next morning dawned bright and hazy, a beautiful late summer day. They breakfasted and took turns showering. Roy had on most of his suit and was attempting to do up his cuffs when Hawkeye stepped out of the bathroom. 

He’d tried not to notice, over the years. Had never allowed his eyes to linger. And they had spent so much time together that her body sometimes seemed like an extension of his own. Natural, unquestioned. 

It wasn’t so here and now. 

She was wearing a dark red dress fitted like a sheath, with a long, narrow skirt and a high back. The neckline dipped down in a deep vee, revealing an expanse of creamy skin and drawing attention to...things. She’d done something different to her hair; it was still up, but somehow twisted and piled in a way that highlighted the the clean slope of her neck and strong lines of her shoulders. 

Roy’s cufflinks dropped out of his hands. He swore and scrambled to the ground to get them, heart pounding like a drum. 

“Having trouble?” she asked wryly, drifting over to the mirror to put her earrings in. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, aware of her bare calves in his peripheral vision. 

“Damn fiddly things,” he said, because it was the only thing he could think of to say that wouldn’t be deeply mortifying and entirely too earnest. 

“Let me,” she said as he stood, and she plucked the cufflinks from his insensate hands. They were standing close enough that he could smell soap, and the faintly floral scent of shampoo drifting off her hair. Blood thundered in his ears. 

_Think about something else,_ he told himself desperately. Anything _else._ But his mind was a racing blank as he waited the interminably long time it took for her to fix his cufflinks. Her fingers kept brushing his wrists. 

“How do I look?” he asked with forced joviality when she finished. She stepped back and gave him a critical once-over. 

“Your tie is crooked,” she said dispassionately, because he had somehow fallen in love with the most beautiful and terrible woman in Amestris. “Come here.”

She stepped closer and in a few quick, efficient movements somehow made his tie lie flat and centered where it tucked into his waistcoat. 

“There,” she said, smiling. Roy’s heart did a flip in his chest. “Presentable. Shall we go?” 

::


	12. September 1917, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and finally, here we are! im sorry this took so long, the primary reason for delay is that im graduating with my bachelor's in uh....just about a month? so life is coming at me pRETTY FAST right now. but i also wanted to post the last two chapters as a set since they're one continuous scene, so it took me longer to edit. 
> 
> i want thank jediseagull again for being an AMAZING beta, and also to thank all you guys for commenting and kudos'ing. it means a lot to me and i hope the final chapters live up to expectations. <3333

The ceremony was beautiful. The Elrics and the Rockbells had erected a large tent outside their farmhouse, hung all over with lanterns and garlands. Winry looked absolutely radiant, and Riza even caught Roy sniffling during the ceremony. She had to pass him a handkerchief, which he took without comment, a sure sign he was overcome.

Then there was toasting, and eating, and more toasting, and dancing. Riza stayed out of the dancing, happy to watch from the sidelines with a glass of beer and a slice of cake as Mei coaxed Al through a stumbling two-step, both of them laughing helplessly. Rebecca, who had been sitting with her for the meal, had been pulled away by Havoc for one of the whirling fiddle dances. Looking at them, Riza smiled to herself. 

For all of Rebecca’s complaints about not being able to find a good man, she seemed to have one right under her nose. 

As Riza watched, Winry detached herself from where she and Ed had been making their way around the room talking to guests. She looked around the room and her eyes lit up, then she hurried over and collapsed in the chair across from Riza with a grateful sigh. 

"Phew," she said, fanning herself. "I set Ed and Dr. Marcoh off talking about alkahestry. They'll be at it for a while." She peered across the table at Riza’s half-eaten cake."Can I steal off your plate? I'm starving." 

"Of course," said Riza, pushing it forward. 

" _Thank you,_ " said Winry fervently, and set upon the food. "I'm so glad you and Brigadier General Mustang could make it," she said between bites. "After all the help you've given Ed and Al over the years." 

"Not at all," said Riza warmly. "We wouldn't miss it, and we're both very happy for you. Even if the Brigadier General would never admit it to Edward," she added. 

Winry laughed happily. 

"That's men for you," she said. "I have to say, I'm glad Ed was able to leave the military. I know we had it pretty easy, considering, but still, I wouldn't want him to be at the Fuhrer's beck and call all the time. It must be hard to have a partner in the military."

Her tone was casual, but her expression was knowing and there was a purposeful lilt to her voice. Riza drew breath to dissemble, to nudge the conversation away from the topic, but then stopped. 

How many years had it been? Other than her grandfather, Maes had been the last person to know. If he had told Gracia, she had never let on. 

Perhaps it was simply the influence of the beer, or the joyous atmosphere that made her want to loosen her tongue.

Perhaps they had been silent too long. 

"I won't say it's not difficult at times," she said instead. "But when you both share the same goal, it becomes easier. Even if it's hard, the fact that you’re together becomes...something to be grateful for.” 

Across the room, she caught sight of Roy, sitting in a cluster with the rest of the team. His tie was loose and his shirtsleeves rolled up. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. She waved, and a smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkling. With a little nod, he lifted his beer in acknowledgement. She turned back to Winry. "After fourteen years with a person, it becomes second nature.” 

Winry's eyes widened slightly. 

“Wow,” she said after a moment. “Miss Riza, that’s beautiful.” 

“It’s just what I think,” said Riza, with rush of embarrassment. 

Winry shook her head vigorously. 

“No, no,” she said. “I’m glad.” She looked down. “We’ve been so lucky, I think,” she said quietly. “My parents, they were really in love, you know? And I’m so glad I got to see that. From what Granny says, Ed and Al’s mother and father were too. And Brigadier General Hughes and Miss Gracia, and—” she gestured wordlessly to Riza and then across the room, “—well. I think when people love each other, it makes a sort of ripple effect in the world. The love from them spreads outward to other people. Sort of like Ed and Al’s new law of alchemy.” She laughed, looking wobbly. “Don’t tell Ed I said that. He’d never let me live it down.” 

Riza silently passed her a napkin, and to her surprise Winry took her hand and held on. 

“I’m such a mess,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “I’ve barely eaten all day.” 

“Your parents would be proud of you,” said Riza gently. “You’ve grown up so well, and you have a beautiful future ahead of you.” 

Winry hiccuped, fat tears now rolling down her face into the napkin. Riza squeezed her hand reassuringly. When she looked up, Edward was hovering nearby, looking alarmed.

“Uh, Winry? Are you alright?” he ventured while Winry blotted her face.

“Of course I’m alright, dummy,” said Winry, flapping the napkin at him. 

“Well, you’re crying…” ventured Edward, with the uncertainty of a man who wasn’t sure if he’d done something wrong.

“It’s my wedding,” snapped Winry. “I’m allowed!”

“Well, sorry for being concerned because my _wife_ is sobbing in the corner,” said Edward in an offended tone, but his lips twitched upwards at the word ‘wife’ like he couldn’t help himself. He was looking at Winry like she was the only person in the room. Riza smiled to herself. Probably time to make her exit. She murmured a goodbye, got her purse, and withdrew. 

Roy met her halfway around the edge of the tent. 

“Go for some air?” he asked, jerking a thumb outside the tent.

“Sure,” she said. Together they threaded through the crowd of people drinking and dancing to duck outside into the cool evening air. The sun was just beginning to set—she had forgotten how long the days seemed in the countryside with no buildings around to block the light. 

Roy heaved a sigh and sat on the side of a slight grassy slope. Riza joined him, lowering herself to the ground cautiously in her narrow skirt. She was pleasantly buzzed from the beer and the company, and feeling lighthearted and well-disposed to things in general. 

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” she said, reaching up to unclip her hair. It was starting to pull at her scalp, so she let it shake loose around her shoulders. After a moment, she took off her shoes as well. She’d risk grass stains on her stockings if it meant a break from uncomfortable heels.

“It made me feel old,” Roy said contemplatively. 

“Don’t tell me this is the beginning of a mid-life crisis,” she said, only half-joking. “It wouldn’t look good on you.” 

“Ouch,” he said, but lightly. “No, I don’t think it’s a crisis. But regrets seem to be on my mind lately. Maybe just because I was seated at the bachelor table.” 

“Most of the people here are bachelors,” she pointed out, but even as she said it she knew it was a deflection; that wasn’t what he meant. His openness had taken her by surprise. She didn’t think it was the beer talking; he wasn’t flushed and rambling, just quietly wistful. 

She turned to look at him and caught him watching her. He looked away, but just a hair too slowly to be casual. She could feel his gaze, a tangible presence in the air between them. 

Time stood still. The breeze across the grass, the orange blaze of the sun dipping below the horizon, the sounds of laughter and chiming glasses from the tent: it all seemed to pause, waiting. 

She was suddenly and absolutely certain that this was the moment, that all moments before had been leading to this. 

“Sir,” she said, reaching for her purse. “I have something for you.” 

“Oh?” he asked, tipping his head back lazily. “It’s not surprise paperwork, is it?” 

“No, sir,” she said. “More like a token of sorts, I suppose. Of our years together. And since the old one got lost, I thought it might be appropriate.” Without ceremony, she passed him the ring box. He accepted it automatically, then looked at his hand like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

“Captain…” he began.

“Go ahead and open it, sir,” she said. 

He opened it and stared for a long moment, then plucked the gold ring with its black stone out of the box and turned it over in his fingers. 

“Try it on,” she prompted, when he just continued to stare. Silently, he tried it on his index finger, but it didn’t go past the first knuckle. He transferred it to his middle finger, where it fit perfectly. 

It had been a good choice, she thought. The glossy finish on the stone mimicked his dark eyes and hair, and the design was striking without being ostentatious. 

Roy was still staring at his hands. 

“Captain, are you proposing to me?” he finally asked, voice low and incredulous. 

“It’s not legally possible to compound marriages on one another, sir,” she pointed out, and waited till he looked up. Then she leaned in and kissed him. 

It was brief and chaste, a brush of lips. She watched as his eyes closed, then fluttered back open. Then he gave a soft groan and dropped his head on her shoulder, breath hot on her neck. 

“Something wrong?” she asked, a brief flash of doubt running through her. 

“You’ve killed me,” he said. “I’m dead.” But he was already lifting his head, gaze filled with such tentative and aching hope that her heart leapt in her chest. “Do it again.” 

They didn’t so much kiss this time as simply fall into each other’s space, gravity pulling them together.

“I know I gave you permission to kill me,” he murmured against her mouth. “But I never thought this was the way you would do it.” 

“You’re talking too much,” she said, nipping at his bottom lip. 

“I’m talking too much?” he said incredulously, pulling away. “Do you know how many years I’ve spent cursing myself for being a fool? Do you have _any idea_ how badly I just wanted to kiss you and damn the consequences?”

“Sir—” she began.

“What kind of idiot falls in love with his subordinate? Fucking _hell_. One woman in all this time and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it,” he continued, apparently to the air around him, voice increasing in volume. “And of course I had to pick the most beautiful, intelligent, capable, totally out of my league—” 

She grabbed his tie and yanked him forward into another kiss. It was more heated than the others, their mouths sliding hot and slick against each other. The sensation plunged down to her belly, making her clench her thighs together unconsciously. 

“I do mean it, you know” he said roughly when they finally broke apart, both breathing hard. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Every word.” 

She felt light, untethered and half-giddy, certain if she spoke that every shining, secret thing inside her would splinter out of her chest. She squeezed his hand tight, unable to break the silence, and twined her fingers with his. The metal band of the ring pressed into her skin, filling her with a fierce surge of joy.

“Riza,” he said softly, and leaned in to kiss her again. 

A burst of noise startled them both, and they leapt apart like guilty teenagers before realizing that it was just the clamor of the tent. 

After a minute, Roy laughed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. She could see her own embarrassment mirrored on his face as well, which made it easier to bear. He stood and offered her his hand with an smile. 

“Shall we go?” 

She smiled back, unable to help herself. A frisson of understanding passed between them. 

“Let’s.”

It wasn’t hard to make their way through the tent unnoticed. The party was in full swing, and there was some kind of country dance going that had everyone’s attention. They skirted around the edge, gathering Roy’s coat, and emerged out the other side. 

There was a horse and cart waiting outside to take guests back to the village, an old man hunched in the front seat with an empty beer mug beside him. 

“Headin’ back already?” he asked as they approached. 

“Have to catch an early train back in the morning,” said Roy ruefully, giving Riza a hand up. He caught her eye and winked. “A real shame.”

They sat side by side in the cart as it rattled down the dirt path. Roy’s knee kept bumping hers, as if by accident. She turned to glare at him, but he just stared back innocently and said, “Bumpy road, isn’t it?” She huffed in annoyance and elbowed him, much too gentle to have any real anger behind it.

After another hundred meters—and three more nudges from Roy’s knee—he coughed and recrossed his legs, and she felt a sudden touch on her thigh just above her knee, his hand resting there with affected casualness. The warmth of his palm radiated through the fabric of her dress to her skin like a banked fire. 

Two could play at that game. She turned to look him straight in the eye and, as they were gazing at each other, she quite deliberately placed her hand on _his_ thigh, _very_ far above the knee. 

“Settle down,” she said in a low voice, punctuating it with a squeeze. 

He drew in a sharp breath, and in the dim light his eyes were like dark pits. 

“Yes, Captain,” he said huskily, but he didn’t remove his hand, and neither did she. 

“Here you are,” said the cart driver, breaking the spell. They had arrived at the inn. After a charged moment, Roy jumped down and offered his hand to Riza.

“Thanks for the lift,” he said to the driver. “Sorry you don’t get to enjoy the festivities.” He fished in his pocket and passed a few hundred cenz to the man, who tipped his hat in response.

“Many thanks, sir. Have a good night, sir, ma’am.” 

And they were alone.

::


	13. September 1917, part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note the rating change ;)

Roy led the way into the inn, climbing the stairs to their modest room on the second floor with Riza close on his heels. It was dawning on him that for the first time in...perhaps years, they were without prying eyes. They were in a small town far from their usual haunts, out of uniform and not on military business. Everyone else was still at the wedding. 

It was just them. 

The knowledge was like the doors of Truth swinging open in front of him and knowing that everything would be different on the other side: awe-inspiring, and somehow too much to comprehend. 

With a sense of unreality, Roy shut the door of the room behind them as Riza went over to the bed to switch on the single bedside lamp. The sight of her in that red dress shook something in him anew, and his stomach gave a horrible sick swoop of nerves—she looked so foreign and unapproachable all of a sudden. But then she turned to face him, hair shining in the lamplight, and she was still his own familiar Hawkeye. 

They met in the middle of the room, kisses and touches coming hesitantly at first, and then with increased confidence. Kissing her was a revelation, his hands and lips exploring all the places his eyes had lingered over the years. It was so heady as to make him dizzy; the feeling of her mouth and her hair and her body pressed against his. He wondered vaguely if he might be dreaming. If so, he didn’t want to wake up. 

After what could have been minutes or hours, they broke apart, gasping. Roy licked his lips and he watched as Riza’s eyes tracked the movement, hungry. 

“Bed,” she said, and seized on his arm, dragging him backward. She sat hard on the edge of the bed, pulling him down to join her. Instead, he dropped to his knees, and she gave a soft gasp. 

“May I?” he asked hoarsely, running his thumb over the hem of her skirt. 

She dipped in to kiss him, quick and ferocious, and nodded, hiking her skirt up around her waist with such a lack of shyness that it made his mouth dry. She was wearing stockings and a garter belt, something Roy had never really understood the erotic appeal of until right that moment, looking at the way the black fabric stood out stark against the pale skin of her thighs, outlining the shape of her legs. 

He fumbled with the clips on the garter belt and frantically tugged the edge of the stockings until she squirmed beneath him and gently swatted him on the head.

“Don’t rip those,” she commanded, in a voice that did uncomfortable things to him. “Stockings are expensive.” 

“As you say,” he said, moderating his pace to slowly peel down the silk and expose bare skin. The sight of it made him giddy, and he ran a hand up her leg wonderingly. This was real. Her skin was warm against his palm, the firm muscles shifting beneath that spoke to years in the military—a career soldier’s physique. Roy was aware that while he was no slouch, there was no way he was in the same fighting trim she was. Going purely on physical strength, she could certainly overpower him. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

He found himself cataloging little things as he worked his way back up. A scar on her knee. A mole on her inner thigh. She submitted patiently to the inspection with no change in her demeanor except for a slight quickening in her breathing. 

He glanced up at her as he neared the juncture of her legs, stopping just short of the fabric of her panties—black, with a small band of lace. She licked her lips, patches of color high on her cheeks, and nodded. Tentatively, he brushed his fingers up against the silky fabric. 

Her inhale was as clear as a bell in the quiet room, and, emboldened, he increased the pressure, firmly stroking downward. His touch was still exploratory, letting her take the lead since he didn’t know what she liked yet. She relaxed into it, guiding him. 

“A little to the left,” she said breathlessly, and then: “Ah!”

“Is it better if I—” He slid his fingers beneath the fabric.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Ah—just let me—” Drawing back, she wiggled out of her panties, tossing them off the edge of the bed, before sitting forward again, legs open. Roy’s mind stuttered, like a record skipping, and on impulse he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her hip before getting back to work with his fingers. 

She was quiet still, speaking only to direct him: “Too hard—there is good, more—” but he could read her reactions in her body, in her little twitches and sighs and the way she pushed back against him. It made him hot all over, like electricity was thrumming through his veins. His breathing was almost as ragged as hers by the time he had two fingers inside her, his thumb teasing around her clit. 

“Roy—” she said, thready and urgent, and then with a cut-off inhale her whole body tensed, shaking silently as she clenched around his fingers. He waited till she fell back back on the bed, panting, before carefully withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on the handkerchief that was still balled up in his pocket from earlier. 

“Get up here,” she ordered, and he scrambled onto the bed beside her, struggling to get his tight formal jacket off.

“Here, let me,” she said. Her hands made quick work of the jacket and moved on to the buttons of his vest while he unknotted his tie and flung it off the bed. Finally, she finished with his vest, leaning in to push it off his shoulders...and promptly leaned back again to start undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

“Alright, enough of that,” he said, losing patience. He was undressed enough, he needed to be touching her, _now_. In one quick movement, he grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap. She just made a noise of frustration and resumed her work on his shirt while his hands roamed up and down her back. The shift of her hair, loose around her shoulders, was fascinating to him, and he ran his hands through it wonderingly. She hummed in pleasure and leaned into the touch, and he took it as an invitation to lift her hair up and lay a kiss on her neck. 

“You’re distracting me,” she said, half-laughing. “Stop it.” 

“Make me,” he said, kissing the edge of her jaw under her ear. 

She pushed him down so he was lying across the bed, giving her access to the last of his shirt buttons. The movement settled her full weight across his hips. He went still and had to stifle a groan. He had been maybe half-hard, pleasantly buzzed on arousal, but now things felt very desperate indeed with her pressed up against him like that.

“Riza,” he said tightly. She smiled down at him, teasing and fond, and leaned in to kiss him open-mouthed. her hips began to move, rocking agonizingly against the bulge in his pants. 

“Good?” she asked.

“Amazing,” he answered, half in a gasp. His face was flooded with heat. “Fuck—” The pressure was getting unbearable. He reached downward to unbutton his fly, and she obligingly lifted off him for a minute, allowing him to push his pants and boxers down as much as possible. 

“Ah, god,” he said nonsensically as Riza continued to grind slowly but inexorably against him. It was too much. He had to bury his face in her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to control himself. 

It wasn’t that he’d never done this before—there’d been a single fumbling time when he was a teenager with one of the girls at the bar, and he was certainly no stranger to the company of his own hand over the years. But this was—different. It threatened to overwhelm him completely. 

“Roy,” she said, breath warm against his ear. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hold back.” 

That was it. He came so hard it almost hurt, breathing in the the intoxicating scent of her skin. 

Afterwards, they untangled themselves slowly, a little wonderingly, with light and fleeting touches. It felt strangely natural as they undressed the rest of the way and cleaned up, like they had been doing it for many years already.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to wear this suit again,” said Roy, looking ruefully at his crumpled and stained trousers as he returned from the bathroom in a pair of clean pajama bottoms. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s what dry cleaning is for,” Riza said crisply, from between the covers. 

From the hallway there was the sound of heavy footfalls and voices. They both froze, eyes locking. Roy dropped the suit trousers and scrambled for the lamp, hitting the off switch with such force that it rattled precariously on its base. He had to choke back a burst of laughter, and nearly fell directly on top of Riza getting back into bed. She shoved him off easily, now a dim shape in the dark.

 _“Shh,”_ she said, sounding like she was holding back laughter of her own. _“Quiet.”_ They listened as the footsteps came closer, and the voices coalesced into the familiar tones of Havoc and Breda, albeit slurred with drink. The door across the hall opened, then shut noisily, and they both relaxed. 

“I ought to discipline them for drunk and disorderly conduct,” said Roy under his breath, his heart finally slowing back to normal. “And being a damn public nuisance.” 

“They’re not on duty,” said Riza dryly, pulling the covers over both of them. “And anyway, I think the court martial might take more offense at fraternization between officers.” 

“When I become Fuhrer the first thing I’m going to do is get rid of that goddamned rule,” said Roy. 

His eyes had adjusted to the dark, so he could just see her shake her head. He sighed. She was right, of course. He could never justify changing the fraternization laws just to make their lives easier. Not when it would open them both up to public scrutiny. 

“Well, it’s nice to dream,” he said. She made a soft noise of agreement and moved closer. Automatically, he lifted his arm to make room for her, his chin coming to rest near the top of her head. 

He lightly trailed his hand up and down her spine, from the dip at the base up to the faint raised ridges of ink, and then up further still to the expanse of scar tissue, strangely smooth but buckled in places, like cheap pasteboard when wet. 

“Was I very obvious?” he asked idly. 

“Yes,” she said promptly, and then, as if sensing his wince, she amended: “Once I knew what I was looking at.” 

“I should have known better than to think I could hide anything from you,” he said, running his palm over the curve of her shoulder. 

She remained conspicuously silent, somehow conveying, _Well, obviously, but I’m too polite to say so_ , without saying a word. 

He supposed the fact he could understand her anyway was proof that it went both ways. 

They fell silent. His mind drifted, remembering, and he laughed. 

“What?” 

“Just thinking that at one point I cherished the hope you might become somewhat fond of me.” 

“When was this?”

“Back when Master Hawkeye was still alive, when we thought we were going to move in together once I graduated. I thought that so long as you didn’t completely dislike me, I stood a chance.”

She laughed against his collarbone. 

“I always liked you,” she said. “You were easy to like. That earnest nature of yours was very attractive.” 

“Past tense, huh?” 

He felt her shoulder rise and fall in an exaggerated shrug.

“Well, you know how it is, acquaintance changes things.” She paused, and the timbre of her voice shifted. No longer teasing, but low and halting, uncertain. “It very quickly became...more complicated than like and dislike. About you. I haven’t thought about it in those terms in a long time.” 

Roy forced himself to stay quiet, keenly aware that this didn’t come naturally to her. 

“You’re the man I married,” she said finally, murmuring it into the dark as if it were something precious. He hugged her close and felt her tense for a moment before she settled against him.

“Are you happy?” he asked abruptly, aware that he had never bothered to ask her before. The nature of what they were trying to do didn’t leave much room for personal fulfillment. For happiness. And yes, they had both chosen it and there were some things they couldn’t change. But it was a hard way to live. 

“I am,” she said. 

“Good,” he said. “Good.” 

It was enough. 

::


End file.
